past, present, future me

hammering out the past
making sense
as best I can,
there is a picture
in a frayed
old, green
photo album
of me,
sun burnt cheeks
from afternoons on the courts.
I'm 15,
everything is possible

there is the image
in the mirror today
lines and wrinkles,
fighting a hopeless battle
with the latest
anti-aging miracle--
the fountain of youth
hidden behind
the clinique counter.
I worry over the now
haunted by 33 years worth
of choices and
dead ends
knowing
three acres is heaven
to a girl who doesn't believe

there is tomorrow
pictures and reflections
to come
someone I might be,
will be
no old dog
there's fight still
in that cynic's heart
enough left for the great american novel,
maybe
but the grace I hope for
is too precarious to voice
so I won't say
what the future-me will
never be
if the present-me fails.
The past
won't let go,
tomorrow knows why