I envy myselves

I read the first few chapters of a book about infertility this morning. Not a science-y book, but a soulful one. The author has written some poetry in it, and I found myself inspired to write the following. I give no further comment.

I wonder if it’s possible to envy myself

not my present self,

            rather my parallel selves

I can feel echoes of my other lives

            as they go about doing their parallel tasks

Attending parallel events and feeling parallel feelings

They move about, living their parallel lives

            never knowing my part in their parallel dramas

As I sleep I can almost hear their parallel activities

I stir at night and wonder

            what my parallel selves are up to

Perhaps my parallel lives are unaware of my present struggles

Perhaps my parallel personalities have gone unshaped

by my present experiences

When I wake every few hours

            to the busy-body behaviors of parallel persons

                        I feel alone

            knowing somehow that they are not

My parallel selves may be as depressed and affected by life as I am

but I am not waking in the night to the soft cries from cradles

that prompt my parallel persons out of their parallel beds

No

I am waking to echoes of parallel cries

            that may never pierce my present dimension