2052
In 2052 I will be 70-years-old
I will be ready to die
And if I am already dead, I’ll finally let go
Because until then I’ll hold on, just a little
I’ll remain in orbit nearby,
checking in on loved ones
stroking cheeks with feathers and cloud dust
I’ll be nearby and in the dusk
In shadows and in the rain pouring down
Although maybe, I’ll be flesh and blood,
alive and complaining
moving with anger at what is failing
alive and refusing to let go even still
In 2052
My youngest will be the same age I am now
He will be fine
He’ll be living his adult life taking care of his family
what ever that means then
children, cats, cyborgs, sister, partners and visitors
dear strangers passing
his kin
his work down here
I’m hoping this planet will be more focused around peaceful solutions,
caring and seeing eachother
I’m hoping there’ll not only be tolerance
but love
I’m hoping vulnerability will be a token of strength
no longer overpowered by the pretence of control
no more puffy sleeves with known goals
By then I’ll have driven my grandkids to all kinds of adventures
in my beat-up car that still glides on the old-fashioned paved roads touching the earth
where hardly anyone wants to drive anymore
I won’t be afraid
My children will have taken me to fly in their brand new flying vehicles
we fasten our seat belts
but the computer does the driving
while we watch a movie
or eat cake
Riding bikes, wearing helmets
driving cars with humans in the driver’s seats
these old narratives
will look irresponsible by then
my stories will show me up like an old hippy parent
who didn’t know the first thing about safety
Talking about emotions will be as common as not knowing
how to talk about them was in the early 2000s
or during the 20th Century
at the time I was born,
which now is a distant extraction
a memory turned gray
The world will be beautiful in 2052
not because it’s perfect and all suffering has ended
but because I’ll see what’s flowing forward,
the short moments where fragility and
the passing of time look like art once did
where nature and AI begin to resemble each other
where we know that everything is natural
and unnatural
where duality breaks
Then I’ll let go
finally
content and ready to leave this planet
where I hovered possibly as a dead soul, passed too soon
too sad with so many unfinished cycles around the sun
cracked hope, loss and ungained insight
where I remained out of love
or maybe I’ll let go
as an agony ant
with aching bones and a memory that escapes me
never content
hungry for more time
clutching at roses, pink crystal and amethyst
unfinished
alive, until my last breath
Astrid Swan 