On those mornings, early afternoons to some
When we woke up to the ramblings of the host
About how the pool’s surface was all cans and cigarette butts
We stretched out, on the floor or a futon or a stranger’s bed
Looking forward to the party hours away
Without savoring much the sweet light hedonism of the night before

These days
With my purse full of Advil and pens and to-do lists
I spend more time reminiscing about the nights passed
Than anticipating the ones to come
And I wonder if this is how the next fifty years will be
And if I made enough mistakes to hold me over

Originally from California, Erika Noel Johnson now lives in Pittsburgh, works at a nonprofit, and frequents tea shops.