I went to visit my futureself.
From my grandaddy’s hayfield, I walked
through a clearing into a new field
filled with purple and scarlet flowers,
and at the top of the next gentle hill
was an old post-and-beam cabin with a big front porch.
My futureself welcomed me inside
and poured a neat Japanese whiskey.
We sat next to each other quite a while
in these soft leather armchairs that faced toward the fireplace.
He didn’t say much.
I asked if I was on the right path, and he nodded.
I asked why the journey had to be so hard,
and he smiled and gently laughed
which pissed me off, honestly.
I asked how he lost the weight,
and he said GLP-1s.
He was deeply reassuring but light on the details.
I thanked him for my time,
and he stood on the porch waiving
as I slipped back through the briars
to the hayfield where I fell over backwards,
heels over head, when I was ten years old.