Saturday, October 19, 2013

Two Daughters

They are spark light air bursts. Scared and not scared
squirrels of sense. You know that down to the moment
every thing now is or is not?


Effervescence squeeking on the grass
getting burned in the sun as though they don’t
know better.


They climb rock face straight up to view
the top then sleep and wonder how on earth
they’ll get down


to catch the next bus to visit zebras, lesboks, warthogs
and wildebeasts on bikes, and scuba dive
to whale sharks


leave behind a menagerie of cataleptic mammals,
old shoes, yearbooks, trophies from Grade 6 and
parents who


argue with voices from the radio, tend small zinnias
in a garden with too much sand, and check the mail
box every day.


Two women who carry possessions on their backs
divine the way in stones and shelter as they
take to the road


those teachings I instilled when they were growing
about owning their dreams and time is all
this world has to offer


and there they are in London, Madrid, Johannesburg
and Mozambique, walking as though I really meant it 
when I said


it’s your life.



(Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine, Spring 2004)

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