All right.
This is for the students.
I'm not alone in just general fear of the future, right?
Actually, this is just for all of us.
I think we can all generally fear the future.
I feel like this is not actually, like,
a student thing.
This is a life thing now.
When I visited the class today, they
went around and said their majors, and a couple of people
said "undecided," and I said, "Me too--
still."
We're all just figuring it out.
So this poem is called "Future."
It's a nonet, and the question is,
just a typical running errands question--
"What is the future?"
Everything that hasn't happened yet,
the future is tomorrow and next year
and when you're old but also in a minute or two,
when I'm through answering.
The future is nothing I imagined as a child--
no jetpacks, no conveyor belt sidewalks,
no bell-jarred cities at the bottom of the sea.
The trick of the future is that it's empty,
a cup before you pour the water.
The future is a waiting cup, and for all it knows,
you'll fill it with milk instead.
You're thirsty.
Every minute carries you forward, conveys you,
into a space you fill.
I mean the future will be full of you.
It's one step beyond the step you're taking now.
What you'll say next until you say it.