One month from now I’ll
be rushing towards the lake at 5am and riding
in cars with windows rolled down and falling in love
(and consequentially waking up alone.) After the sun
crawls behind the mountaintops like an old woman reaching for death, I’ll be sitting in the parking lot across from the alpenglow and mourning the past the same way that
butterflies secretly mourn for their cocoons.
Two months from now you’ll
be sitting at your desk and studying the Punic Wars;
the detailed battle plans distract you from the fact that your cellphone doesn’t light up with my name anymore. After
you’ve picked a side, (Carthage or Rome,) you’ll lie on your back and convince yourself that
knowledge is more meaningful than love.
Can you picture me when you close your eyes?
Or do my features blur with those belonging to every girl you’ve ever kissed goodnight?
Three months from now I’ll
be working at my first job and sneaking into
cheap concerts on weeknights and worrying
that I’ll never live up to my parents’ expectations. After my mother falls asleep on the couch, I’ll sit with a notebook in my lap—thanking you for the heartbreak—
because I wasn’t able to write about our relationship
until you crushed it under the toe of your
yellow Doc Martins.
Four months from now you’ll
be living out your dreams and
chasing after girls with azul irises and spitting the meaning of life out on the bathroom floor like the seeds of a bitter fruit.
I have dark eyes, dark hair, and freckles scattered across the bridge of my nose.
Five months from now I’ll
be searching for you on the pages of novels
assigned in English class and wondering what it would
feel like to be the most powerful wave on the electromagnetic spectrum. After realizing that life is not a mathematical equation, I’ll understand why
I allowed you to watch me undress in the mid-morning glow,
but pulled your hands back violently
as they reached for my poems.
Georgia Eugenides is an eighteen-year-old poet who grew up in Berlin, Germany; Chicago, IL and Princeton, NJ. Her first poem was published when she was nine years old. After spending the previous summer interning at The Paris Review, she decided to submit some of her own work to various publications.