I can meet the President, the Pope, the Dalai Lama,
if I try hard enough to be brave enough for a medal,
to be a Saint, to spread peace, but I can never
meet myself at the age of twenty, that girl that looks
just like me, but different, without a wrinkle or a single gray hair.
How I’d love to find her, sit her in front of me
in an arm chair, brew her some tea, stroke her hair gently,
tell her it will be fine, most of her worries won’t matter at all
later, when years pass; that she will love it all, flashes of dark and light.
I would give her a hug, I would hold her there, in my arms indefinitely,
yes, indefinitely.
Olga Nikolaeva teaches creative writing at San Diego State University. On the weekends, she can be seen hiking around lakes and in the mountains with her husband and three children. Her work has been published in the City Works Journal and the 2016-2017 San Diego Poetry Annual.