If only . . .
By Debbie Spohn, Writers of Kern
What would I do if my fantasy came true,
And he – that mystery man of my daydreams – whispered,
“Let’s leave them all behind, and
Act out some of those images that play in your mind.”
There would inevitably be a sense of loss
Surrounding those dealing with the shock of change.
There would be loyalty to assess,
Belongings and friends to sort,
Guilt to assign; conscience to assuage.
Breaking apart the old to make room for the new.
Can it be done?
How does one go about separating memories,
Deciding what goes and what stays?
Questions to be answered while wiping away
Tears of regret for so much time wasted,
Testing to see if daydreams lose that flattering soft hue in the harsh light of reality.
But the really big test –
What do I do if the fantasy has flaws,
If the hand that now reaches for me is as calloused and cracked as the one left behind?
What to do when you see someone for the first time without the mask,
Displaying not tenderness but open-mouthed snoring and bodily functions,
Possessing the personality of Idi Amin and the table manners of Attila the Hun?
Is it possible that James Bond secretly hides halitosis and genital warts?
What about me?
Would I be able to stand before new eyes assessing my flaws,
Exposed, laid bare to scrutiny, vulnerable to criticism,
This new person wasn’t with me as I acquired the imperfections that come with living.
Stretch marks, surgery scars, love handles.
He may not understand that those are to be forgiven because they were earned.
Looking my age, feeling my age; or worse yet, acting my age.
What would this fantasy think of me with my armor removed?
What then?