My freckles came back (for Emily and Charlotte)

I didn't give you wings to fly
but it was I
not the stork
who carried you
and brought you to term
and carried you again
until you could walk
and adjusted my pace
when you couldn't keep up
and scooped you off the floor
when you cried

I did not feel your pain
but I wracked my brain
to learn your cries
which was pain
which was thirst
which hunger
which frustration
or too hot
or too cold
which anger
which alone
which unspecified uncomfortable

when it came to cuts and scrapes
or bad dates
or boring afternoons
or sibling things
I salved your wounds
or made you laugh
or took you for ice cream
or shopping
or something else
similarly nice

when I was light
of spirit
anticipating your arrival
my freckles came back
people teased and asked
how many souls I had stolen
in my youth
I laughed
remembering this and that
I didn't expect them or my freckles
to return
but someone said
it happens
they do
come back

my step was light
when I was heavy with you
I couldn't wait
to welcome you
face to face
but in the meantime
I shared with you
music and other moments
and planned for the day
when we could do things
more in sync
while you practised shallow dives
and tumble turns
and pushes off the wall
and made me sure
one day
you would be a swimmer
or a lifeguard
at any rate
not the usual kind of sinner

when it was clear
Summer was over
and you really were embarking on college
not just making plans
but crossing things off
the lists you made
and the situations
you carried back
from wistful nights
and fanciful flights
and trips into imagination
yours and mine
I am pretty sure
I nearly cried
and stopped
only because
in the fog and mist
I heard you laugh
and felt your fingers
around my thumb
and remembered
how I laughed
when my training
told me what looked like a smile
when you were so small
was most likely gas
and your grasp
a reflex

but startle or smile
I attended you
in my usual manner
with care
or concern
or whatever was needed
to acknowledge
you
and your many whims
and moods
and mirror back
what you actually said
or spoke without moving your lips
for I have always been able
to read your feelings by your eyes
even when there was more joy
than tears
more surprise
than fear
more wonder
than apprehension

I tucked the birthday card
you made me
in the cover
of my agenda
and looked at it
when you came to me
over coffee
or at my desk
in a daydream

now you're footloose
perhaps even fancy free
and I keep you near me
not like a charm
or a bead in my rosary
hardly as heavy
as my most careless breath
but reaching to the tips
of my fingers
and the paint on my toes
and extremities
hitherto unknown
to me

it occurs to me
you are me
or I am you
at times like these
but with a proper breath
I see just how far
you've danced
while I paused
to catch my breath

and somehow
where you are
while not here
is somehow now
for you
and me
and like the distance between
systole and diastole
or the gap between first and last
when the count is only two
you're with me still

and if I have been
or were
the wind beneath your wings
I was only blowing bubbles
to make you sing
when some upset
had crossed your brow
or tangled you
in knots

I know little of the language of flowers
of the significance
of mixing with freesia and forget-me-knots
or of juxtaposing baby's breath
with roses in other posies
but I know what I like
and I've always felt you and I make such a good pairing
right from the first stirring of you
before you kicked
or made me seasick
before pitch
or yaw and roll were even relevant
or made me think
I needed to exchange my compass
for a gyroscope
but we got through
and now you're nimble

chemistry is it
you're taking now
I'll get to Standard Temperature and Pressure soon
you'll see
but pardon me for a while
as I rummage to find
the emerald that is you
in a pocketful of peridots
my commitments
and obligations
pretty enough
sometimes
to take my mind off of you

Thanksgiving is coming
and we'll be together again
my daughter
my friend
and then
I'm sure
we'll start where we left off
or begin again
as we've done so many times before
so I wait for the sound of the key in the door.

Of course she's not a true red

As the parent of a "ginger", and having red heads on both sides of the family, and having married into two Irish families, I know first hand that ginger covers the whole spectrum from strawberry blonde (to my way of thinking a classic ginger!), to orange (carrot tops), to a real rust red (what my father in law would call a true red). When Pat Todkill first set eyes on his granddaughter, he remarked, "Of course, she's not a true red". For one thing, Emily the Elder lacked freckles on her face and upper body. For another, she really was and is a strawberry blonde. A further observation. Even people with the raven blackest hair have rust red lights--caveman red, soot covered ochre if you like. Woolly mammoth red. Sometimes it takes just the right light to pick out the smoldering ember, but beard and eyebrows tend to incorporate the tell tale ginger strain, like chili pepper in a spice jar of mixed pepper corns. And, of course, brunette...

Danusia and the brickworks

Kipling, who made comments about big guns and so many other politically inappropriate things it would be impossible to include them here, once visited Medicine Hat and declared that it had all hell for a basement. It does have natural gas, and a flame is constantly lit in the coulees to mark the spot. Some say it is a waste of gas, but at least you can actually tell the whisperer by his flame. Harder to pin down is the wind. In southern Alberta they say the cows sleep standing up because of the wind. And you only know there isn't a breeze when you get bit by a sand fly. Here I met Danusia, the daughter of Polish combatant, who, along with her childhood girlfriend Bogusia, sold Toni home perms and L'Oreal hair colour to fellow children of displaced persons, who cut hair and did it up just so in the Flats, where it flooded every Spring, or thereabouts. Danka and Bugsy were married, as was the custom, to strapping Polish lads who worked at the IXL brickw...

I double dog dare ya

I double dog dare ya to repeat the story you heard in 3 Trees the shop of Indian incense and beeswax crayons from Germany perhaps a source for Waldorf or Montessori Nepali filigree or Balinese woven silver and semi-precious gems cut loose dresses and butterfly pants from Indonesia or somewhere similarly hot and breezy and yoga cushions maybe made locally and unmentionable remarks harder to tell than listen to I think it was a tall woman of subcontinent ancestry who was trying on bras and dresses and saying she was generally pleased at the selection and the clerk who replied yeah who knew Asian women have boobs and height and take up space and commisserated with her customer who mentioned she didn't think men looked for a mirror to see how their bum looks before deciding and buying down the risk she knowingly showed to me I was there for the sale half price and no tax the gift they give 3 times a year to generate so...

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