The Before Picture

It’s complicated, my relationship status

with progress. I often prefer

the “before” picture. The future

is where I’m going only because

I have no choice, because time

moves in one direction, dragging

a bit of itself behind like meat.

An unseen hand keeps

tugging it—time’s rabbit leg,

time’s hunk of red venison—

just out of reach. Did I just describe

the future as bait? Am I strung

along? I know, when I arrive there,

it won’t be there. Won’t be that.

It’ll be now, the way it is

right now. And again. Refresh,

refresh, refresh. The befores

pile up behind me. It’s now again.

Maggie Smith