I ate lunch at my desk
and watched them
a strangely compelling show

they must have known we could see them
but it was too tempting
the sudden appearance
of their flesh

a man winked once
and it took me a moment to realize
he was flirting
with himself

but it’s the women I remember the most
looking back
with such sadness
their soft bodies stuffed into pantyhose
their hands dropping instinctively
to veil the offending parts
of their shape

I wish I’d been brave enough to run after a few
tap them on their shoulders
out of breath

where did you get that skirt
man, you look smashing.

it’s new
this penchant for stashing
lining things up
a determination to wear gumboots
and no pants

you look at me with consternation
when I try to suggest a more seasonal outfit
or explain why the baseboard heater
is not a good resting place
for the blender

you don’t have the words yet
but the message is clear

I am the owner of me

but it is not all bluster
I watched you today
as you deliberated
where to place the pots and pans
an assortment on all our chairs
you looked grave
as though you were deciding the fates of millions
and then suddenly
you decided it was just right
and you erupted into a smile
slapping your belly
with bald-faced pride.

phone calls and texts
I am stuffed with love

my mother sings to me
before noon
because that’s the rule

the day sewn up
with that half hour
unplanned
between stops
a cinnamon bun
an interview on the car radio
indie filmmakers
their journey makes my legs twitch
with my own big dreams

I had thought I would use the pocket of time
to reflect before the year thaws
into a murky version of itself

but I am too fizzy for contemplation
I unroll the window
a man is picking avocados
from the grocer’s basket on the sidewalk
he is singing Against All Odds by Phil Collins
I join in
loud
and then I drive away
not even blushing.

the Chinese women doing tai-chi on the dock
like slow-motion marionettes

the jogger
not a regular
you can tell by the way he keeps looking
at his watch

the young father
texting on his phone
his baby curled up like a koala bear
under his coat

you share a secret with them
that sleeping people don’t know

just before the world gets its colour back
the trees exhale
and the air tastes
like hope.

I feel for her
but I can’t help but root
for her babies

such exhilaration in their feet
racing into the newness

I see it in my son too
impervious to doubt
he runs from one moment to the next
convinced the world is waiting
to show him more tricks

watch his hands
they grab at everything
you think it’s curiosity
but it’s more urgent than that
it’s his spirit
hungry
as he shovels in life.

so it is with the words
that climb down out of your head
you think you are going to write about your mother
on Mother’s Day
but you can’t stop thinking about how
you heard on the radio today
that the sun will boil away the ocean
in a billion years
which is a long ways off
but it still makes you irritated
for a reason you will never
get to the bottom of

and in the end
your poem takes you by the neck
and says
you threw a party today
write about that
but it’s a trick
you choke on the phrase

threw a party

the words splatter into an image
the food
the saris you used as tablecloths
your friends
all of it in a bag
that you throw onto the grass
like dice
the thrill
of what the consequences will be
of all that mixing.

it’s airplanes now
that drive your head into my neck
squealing
part elation
part dread

who can blame you
these birds
that roar over our house

we tell you that you’ve been inside one
but this seems to make it worse
I wonder later if you were trying to remember the day
you were eaten
by a bird

the truth is
I don’t work very hard
to allay your fear

you move so much these days
when you do burrow into me
I lose my words
a strange heartache
in the ephemeral tenderness
of your hug.

raise a boy
who can dance

if you feel like yelling
try whistling

spelling matters

read to him
but make up stories too
he will stop asking for them eventually
but that doesn’t mean
he wants you
to stop

you will never feel
wise enough

but it doesn’t matter

your job is not to answer all his questions
just add fuel
to keep his curiosity
alive.

don’t worry about whether you read the right book
or got any of it
on video

don’t worry about his kindergarten teacher
or if he’ll always be shy

love him with vigor
love yourself just as much

don’t let anxiety
wrench your spirit shut

he chose you

your job is to be seen
so dig for your truth
and show it to him
tender and unpolished

don’t use the phrase book of anyone else

call him a tuba rumple
make up dance routines
have baths at noon

be late sometimes
just the two of you
because the sky was orange and silk
and the wind was just right
for kites.

driving with a knee
while feeding blueberries
into the backseat

picking lentil burger out of the carpet
in a skirt
at a dinner party

starting a book at the end
even though it goes against the very skin of you
just so he can point out
the moon

this is the steady march of doing
that comes with the job

but mother is also a noun
that looks like silence

when your baby is born
the room left inside you
fills up with it

if you close your eyes
you will know it

it is the opposite
of you can do everything

it is just you
your breath
and awe.