Today she saw Tomorrow,

she adjusted the focus
on her binoculars,
stood with feet apart, hand on hip,
peering toward a future
only she could see,

where a grandmother hugged
without fear,
as tears streamed
for all the days she’d been alone,

where a family gathered near
for a long-delayed wedding,
then danced with abandon
late into the starry night,

where a loved one’s passing
became a delayed remembrance,
with treasured folks present
to celebrate a life well-lived,

where glowing embers
from a roaring campfire
illuminated the smiling faces
of reunited friends,
whose rekindled dreams
found tender, promising roots,

Today she saw Tomorrow,

where a touch, a hug,
a kiss on the cheek,
once a distant memory,
existed again,

Today she saw Tomorrow,

a perfectly normal,
tomorrow kind of day,
where everything,
and somehow nothing,
was as it used to be.

Photo of Haddon taken by her mother, Eliza Ingram