I have always been the clay
Always.
When my parents moved me from my Italian home
To Hamilton, Canada

I was the clay
I learned English
Decorated a new bedroom
Made new friends
Dressed like I was born here
I became Canadian
Without a complaint

I was the clay
When my Canadian boyfriend
Fed me Canadian food
I ate it
When he wanted me to go to the bar
With him and his friends
I went
When he wanted to watch football
Which isn’t actually football
I watched too
When he started listening to country music
I learnt all the lyrics

I was the clay
When my parents had a baby
I changed diapers
Played ball with her in the yard
Was a good babysitter
Went to the playground
Played peek-a-boo
Read children books to her in English

I was the clay
When my boyfriend wanted to take a break
I said okay
When he wanted to get back together
A month later
I said okay
When he said we should move to Edmonton
I said okay
When he asked me to make Canadian food for him
I learnt for him
When he blamed me for everything
I nodded and said sorry
When I found him in bed with another girl

I became a bird
I was not the clay
I grew feathers
Colourful and long
Then I flew
And I don’t ever plan on landing

Just be the **** ****** you desire
Just be their icon, diva, vogue, inspire!
Just shake that money-making waffle tale
And put it up for every market sale
Or be the coffee squirrel on the wheels
Just give me mochas, lattes – those the deals!
Don’t be so easy cheesy, take a shot!
You drink at Hortons’, baby? You are hot!
Don’t feel like ******, squirrel? Be the moose!
Hang out at Lake Louise with Branta goose
Just grab a Molson and then chill it out
Now, isn’t that what Canada’s about?
Just be polite today and I won’t bite
Just say you’re sorry when you are not right
Just be the polar teddy, be the loon
We’ll love you all the way from Earth to Moon

Off-brand chips and bean soup, again
Someone told me the skies here are blue
Today my tea is grey. The commute
Roars quiet, like an ostrich
Like a gas top and saucepan.

I taste red beans on my tongue
That I brought from my mother's house
Back home I have a chicken. My wife
My three daughters, my son
The train is red, red and white

I will call them again, tonight.
My knuckles are dry. My shoes are clean
Lint-rolled suit, crisp tie
Sharp and clean and white shirt
White and my red, red beans.

It wouldn’t matter
should you not have any,
for the Canadian police force
has four legs too many.
Galloping in fields,
but in alleyways long,
the arm of the law
Has no legs to stand on.

she's an island;

pale as the ocean mist
veiling the rugged shoreline.
with chubby freckled cheeks
framed by coppery red curls,
lashed up in fishtail braids,
or left loose in the salty breeze,
falling down to her shoulders,
broad and wind-weathered.

her laughter is the crash
of waves on the dock.
or the roar of the eastern winds,
that scour the northern seas.