Springtime in Manitoba

The springtime was hard on her.
She’d let herself go these last few years.
Cracks in the foundation,
oatmeal patchworks.
Like a losing sports team,
her citizens were restless.
Unhappy patrons
watching outdoor televisions,
waterfalls like phony rainbows,
ticket stubs and cigarette butts.

How do you like me now?

There is no running from these soggy streets
as we comb the thawing ancestral rivers for a trace of
our mothers, daughters and sisters.

lf | could only leave here...
It’s just not the same since you're not around.