210119 Time Jump

 jan 19

Time Jump

Driving east on Eglinton, 

I approach the lights where Jane Street

runs down into a valley and 

Eglinton slopes down to meet it. 

Slowing, I imagine a shift 

like a wind change and I'm 

Almost certain

That if I turn the corner and go north 

my mother will still be alive. 

I'll go up Jane, 

to the top of  the hill, 

turn left and drive to West Park,

at the end of the road,

overlooking the ravine

full of trees. 

There in the open, modern hospital, 

she will be sitting, patiently, 

waiting for a visitor or 

resting, tired from physio. 

It will be nine years ago 

and she will be two operations and six years 

away from her death. 

We'll go outside and walk

where flowers edge the pavement, 

to the gazebo, 

above the trees. 

I will say to her all the things knocking at my lips, 

put a hand on her arm and feel her warmth, 

make her smile,

talk about Jane Austen, about the baby. 

I'll give her the baby to hold.

It would be Tam just born, 

not Rain, whom she never saw. 

The light is red and I stop the car. 

I think about turning;

it's almost dark and I wish, 

the wish a twist inside, a tearing, 

almost tears. 

The light turns green and I go straight

along Eglinton, past Jane. 

                                  

My mother was 68 when Tam was born. I know - same hair style.                Ah, that's better. Sleep now.

Be well, friends. Thank you for visiting.

Mumma Yaga