After the last guests vanish
and the final bottle clinks
in the bin, I retreat to bed.
Checking my phone
one last time,
I see a message from you.
Out of the ether:
Happy birthday!
Hope your wish came true.
Come to think of it—
I forgot to wish
before the deep breath
and extinguished candles.
Should I ask for
a brighter future,
a better world, or
a second chance for us?
No—I will not hope to
revive our unstable orbit,
with me at the center
and you spiraling away.
I will wish so small,
the cosmic creator,
might simply shrug
and whisper, Why not?
A simple request:
a used bookstore—
a modest dream.
***
decades from now,
I settle in a quiet town
spending my days
running a bookstore
one day, a dim stranger arrives
with a stack of records
I offer him a small sum,
my eyes unblinking
after a beat,
he takes the cash
once he leaves,
I pull out what i want—
a zoetrope record
around the record,
a looping image
of two people
dancing endlessly together
I set the record
on the turntable
and gently lower the needle
every rotation
a fleeting glimpse
of you and me,
circling once more
as I watch,
a pang ripples
through my heart—
the memory of a wish
I dared not make
***
Waking from my dream,
the vision in the record lingers,
unwilling to dissipate
in the light of day.
In another time, another world,
you were there on that birthday
giving shape to my wish.
11.22 (another cycle around the sun)
Alternate title: “Zoetropic Strobing and Hypnagogic Longing”
Photo by Patrick McManaman on Unsplash
opusculum 