I recollect my first impression of death:

In an old 70s beige GM car, an overcast day

in a Winnipeg parking lot,

I was four, five or six maybe,

it seemed nebulous and strange, yet

an oncoming unseen hurdle to be feared, reckoned with

at a later date, when age itself seemed abstract -

making me feel even smaller in the back seat.



Second time on a bus ride to school,

a dew heavy Kingston morning, the traffic slowed

to molasses and the driver asked a passerby

why the commotion – a dead woman in the bush.

I glimpsed her arm, a solemn shade of brown,

reaching out into the air, making fun of the day

and embellishing mine with playtime dread.



My bus drove on to its familiar route

and I settled back down

and I thought this breaking day was her final loss…

The sun overflowing and happy,

turning everything real and unreal

and perilous without reason.