Ah yes, that too

I vaguely remember a Star Trek episode
(Next Generation, of course)
Where Picard had to deliberate
On the capacity of people for evil
And the capacity of people for good
And how, in fact, to hold the two together?

Star Trek, being TV Hollywood
Of course takes the easy way
And lets us go to bed assured
That the good will win out in the end

At times I feel weepy at the tragedies
The way we do manage in fact to be
So awfully cruel
Still, the are warm winds too

To what extent did Y go to give the babies
Something they're unlikely to remember?
How much effort did she put in
Personal time and sacrifice
Only to show that she cares about our little ones
And to show that she loves them to them

And that dad who was just here
He looks ragged and worn
He's been through a lot, probably seen a lot
But when his young son feeling out of sorts
He'll go to the ends of the earth
Do what he can
Keep him under his wing

My mom sent me an old letter
Almost 10 years old
That was sent to my dad by a former colleague
Where the guy comes out of the closet
Tells my dad because he wants him to know
Even though he suspects he already knew
What courage and desire to entrust someone
With the very "who" that you are

I don't know
I try not to be sentimental about these things
But the risks, the self-sacrifice, the generosity
That too is part of who we are
And how we are
And on this night, it's something quite luminous

Rage against

You need to fill in a time sheet if
you are sick
you want to switch shifts
you want time off
if you work overtime
if you are being paid from another cost centre

And make sure that they are
recorded
initialed
approved
faxed
entered

If a 10 year old child arrives 90 minutes before your shift
Even if it's getting on to midnight
They are to wait
Even if they're tired
For the next person
Or else you might work overtime
Which you'd need to get approved
And record
And initial
And fax
And enter

If a 16 year old is coming from a hospital hours away
And they were sent to you
So they've been through a wait
And a screen
And a discharge
And a travel
But if it's 90 minutes before your shift
They are to wait
For the next person
Or else you might work overtime
Which you'd need to get approved
And record
And initial
And fax
And enter

And if a kid needed a place to be safe
You need to ask a doctor
To ask a doctor
To page a doctor
To tell a doctor
To have the doctor come in
And talk with the kid
And fill out the papers
And fill out more papers
And call security
And call a nurse
And walk them up
And make sure you
Record it
Initial it
Fax it
Enter it

And if a kid needed someone to talk to
They talk to the first person
Then another
Then another
Then you
And you ask them the questions on the form
And maybe a few others
And you record it
And initial it
And file it
So that it gets faxed
And scanned
And entered

But if a kid needs a bus ticket
Or a hug
Or a friend
Or an ally
Or your opinion
Be careful
Or don't do it
Because you'd have to record it
Initial it
File it
Fax it

Skipping stones

I got a long email from a woman I met almost twenty years ago
We spent one term together in the same university residence
And I have never seen her since
Yet we keep in touch
Our children are the same sex and age
And the things she writes and the things she thinks about
And the way she's honest about the fights she has with her husband
Are like reading my own writing
We really only connected for a brief period and I marvel
18 years later

Women of a certain age

We are like old women sitting around a coffee pot
We have much to say about many things
And unafraid to show how we feel

It comes across in how our voices rise and lower
How our arms sweep the air
How we wipe our tears with paper napkins

A good friend is dying
And we can't bear to think of her children
Of her having to say goodbye

An old boss still pesters us with his ways
He is unchanged, brittle, vain
Puffing his chest and avoiding duty

I tell you of an unnamed woman who wails
Having lost her baby, bereft
And how her grief unhinged her listeners

You talk of your dreams of a child in your home
What he might bring, how you'll love him
How you will parent him

We talk of a young girl murdered
Maybe tortured
And the long pain that follows

And so it goes back and forth
Our work, our bosses, our men
Our labours, our losses, our love

It is the afternoon hour
Of a day, of a lifetime
Of strong coffee and stronger friendship

Take the long view

I've been sorting clothes again
Seems I do it every season

Boy, girl, boy, girl
Multiple piles scattered on the floor
Clothes to give away to friends
Clothes to give away to babies not yet born
Clothes to donate to strangers

Boxes marked
18-24 months
2-3 years
Pants, 6-7 years
Assorted winter coats
Sneakers, sandals, boots
Winter boots up front as the cold is coming

These clothes seem to rain into our house
I find them on the doorstep in unmarked bags
Sometimes they’re there in no bag at all
Lying on the steps waiting
To be brought in
For the children to grow

She's 17 months now but here I hold
A 5 year old girl's shirt
An unimaginable distance away
When she'll play big girl games
Brush her hair
Have those long spindly arms that children do
Tell me about her day
Have friends of her own
Wonder about the wider world

He’s four and wears a size five
But the size ten pants seem unimaginably big
He’ll be like the grade fives on the soccer field
Towering over the little ones
Kicking the ball over the goal
And whatever else ten year olds do
Which seems a mystery to me now

The piles vary in size
There will be no need to go shopping
With multiple winter coats
Already in multiple plastic bags
Labeled, sorted, stored

But in the sifting I travel
To a time still an imagination away
And I linger in the long view
That all these days and nights
Of love and caring
Of listening and learning
Will unfurl into beautiful children we have yet to know

How I failed

I didn't take the time to listen and make sure we were on the same page when I felt the clock ticking and wanted to go home to bed to my sweetheart and sent you away in a cab alone to your solitude and sadnes/I missed the signs and symptoms because I didn't know what I was doing and you were looking for help and I didn't manage it and lost the chance with you/I was too afraid of your race and you sex and refused to see you alone in a corner so waited and waited for a space in full view and the waiting was too much and you left, with no help, noone who seemed to care enough/I didn't offer you hope and saw your situation as dire and a dead end and it came across in my tone and in my "sorry"s which you didn't come to hear and didn't want to know that I was sorry when you wanted help and hope/I didn't listen to the stories that were important to you and cut you off and you felt I didn't hear you, really hear you, and you left feeling unheard and your world ignored.

Whither our girls?

Whither our girls? /They're not on the soccer field /Or by the hockey net /They're not usually found at first base /And don't seem to be found up in the trees /They're holding hands with the teacher /Walking along the playground /Gathered around the lunch table /Making meowing noices at each other /They're also in the emergency rooms /Arms sliced with pencil sharpeners /Razors, knives, box cutters /And hips and shoulders and thighs too /They're sometimes, though not often, /In legislatures /Still more rarely as CEOs and CFOs and CAOs /Unless it's a hospital around here /Some are hanging from door hooks /By bandanas /Around the neck /Eyes blackening /Some are at parties /Or in trailors /Giving blow jobs /To men twice their age /Some are lying in bed /Staring at the ceiling /Smoking a joint /Hoping to die by some miracle /Our girls, our girls /Sliced and diced /Bought and sold /Ousted and denied