If tomorrow starts without me

Inspired by david romano’s 1993 poem “when tomorrow starts without me”

if tomorrow starts without me, 

i hope the noisy blinds will be pulled up, the windows opened. 

i hope the sunlight peers through and pierces their eyes,

and that kind, tender words are spoken. 

hume says that i don’t know if the sun will rise,

if i’m not there to witness it again. 

but if tomorrow starts without me, 

i hope they’ll see it, and think of way back when — 

when we first crossed paths,

or when we were finally aware of one another; 

learning where one might crack, one might sigh,

learning how to align, to enjoy life together.

i’ll be sitting, legs dangling off the fluffy clouds, 

with the bluebirds and the angels, 

glimmers will shimmer in the evaporated water,

and i will look down to see the tiny people, tiny strangers. 

i hope my father still reads with the same fervor, 

and picks up a myriad of books at the bookstore;

the one on the corner i would have dragged him into,

peering through the spaces between books for the hidden lore. 

i hope he still sits by the window, red wine glass in hand, 

as french and poetic as he is, as i direct the shine.  

i could orient a ray right onto the ink,

soaking his pages with the quest of lost time. 

i hope my mother still waters her orchids,

grows them and cares for their roots and cries,

so that i can see them double in the mirror,

from my view in the high skies.

and that she still remembers my hugs, my laughter with her,

when we just cuddled together,

and that she continues to keep her strength and lead,

with all her grace and endless ardor. 

i hope my sister is having fun, her youth is still young. 

she’ll go far, discover new worlds and meet new people.

i hope she comes home, and still steals my clothes,

shakes new hands, and kisses new strangers. 

my friends, think of me when you think of a poem,

of the ones i wrote about all of you, 

or when someone says something melancholic and stupid.

think of me when you might feel blue. 

of the jokes i made, or the times you laughed at me

and i laughed with you too. 

think of the memories, the stories, the drama, the plot, 

think of the times when for me, joy was true. 

if tomorrow starts without me, 

i hope your love is soft and delicate. 

i want you to feel the lives of others, 

and know i’m the one who sent them,

who wants you to feel the grace and the slowness,

the beauty in the monotony and a lazy afternoon. 

when you spray your perfume, think of me dearly,

of the times i emptied bottles without end. 

when you go out and dance, think of me,

of when we held hands under the strobing lights,

and wiggled around, like a bunch of dysfunctional worms,

but had never laughed harder, had never sang louder. 

when you open a new page and mark the date in the corner,

think of the silent minutes we spent, 

getting lost in the lines and the view of the rooftops,

and the timeless intimacy we spent with our pens.

when you see the sun set, and the orange take over,

remember the lawn chairs we rocked in for hours,

talking about our deepest wells and most painful times,

our intermittent laughter letting us sweeten the sour. 

see a muffin, see a crumble, see a crumb in the corner, 

remember the plans we made for an ideal feast,

imagining flavors, tasting them far away,

inventing worlds with just flour and yeast. 

when your feet touch the sand and you look out onto the waves,

picture the days we dreamt of on our towels,

when they couldn’t hurt us anymore, cause girls help each other,

when laughter and smiles would replace tears and howls. 

when you inhale a coffee, on your way to your class,

think of the dreams we would always see and share, 

so remember now to slow down and go back to when,

we actually took the time to breathe, to care. 

an endless stroll in the ramble of the leaves,

i hope will remind you of our narnian walks,

when we got lost in politics, drama and trivial jokes,

our secrets locked in tall tree stalks. 

when you open the candy bag we bought en masse,

please keep putting the blue aside for me, 

and when i send down the blue birds to sing you my song,

send them back with the blue ones, my treasure, your debris.

when you walk through the city streets,

remember the way i dragged you, marched through the crowd with you.

how i got lost in the wave of people abound,

rushing as if escaping our chaos, we knew would ensue. 

when you see the dark gray clouds, 

will you remember the melodrama i so artistically feigned,

to feel like in a movie, to stare out the window,

when really, all we did was find joy when it rained. 

when you hear the piano play again,

i hope your ears don’t hurt from the memory of my voice,

but rather you see my fingers as they slowly trickled down the ivory,

alternating between f and f-sharp, trying to make the better choice. 

when i see the sun rise, from my little spot in the clouds,

i’ll think about where you all are on the great earth’s sphere;

what time you will wake up, who will drink their coffee first,

who of who i know, will be the first to hear — 

the song of the blue birds i send down to you,

with a glimpse into ideas written in secret,

in the space between these words,

a glimpse into our hearts, i hope you’ll see it. 

so if tomorrow starts without me,

i hope we all remember, we believed it was true,

and know that whenever you remember me,

i will be thinking of you too.