Come spring!

Come spring, come spring,

Let flowers sing!

Let no more melancholy winter reign,

With its thousand reasons to complain.

No more introspection in the dark

Be rather joyous as the lark!

Burst outside the walls your soul restricting

Let yourself fly on winds uplifting.

A hillside of flowers catches my eye

I hurry toward them on feet light and lithe.

Tiny crocuses shake in the breeze

Delighted to see them I drop to my knees

Translucent petals tremble and sigh

But lift their glowing faces to the sky.

Despite the February frost,

Let not one day of sunshine be lost!

Come spring!

Every Child Matters: September 30th

This September 30th was the 5th anniversary of my daughter Josephine’s birth. And death. Stillborn. It’s a bittersweet day for me, as we mourn and remember and celebrate her, especially by planting fall bulbs which will fill our garden with colour in the spring. We try to fill her birthday, one haunted by painful memories, with as much love and beauty as we can. We feel the wordless warmth of her love in return, across the temporary divide into the next life. The prayers and kind messages of friends take the sharp edge off this poignant day.

Josephine’s birthday is also Orange Shirt day, the special day assigned to commemorate the suffering of First Nations children separated from their families and put in residential schools. Having lost a child myself, I feel a stab of sympathy when I think of these families who had their children torn away from them. They had the additional torture of anxiety for their children’s happiness and well-being, knowing these were being violated. So from the heart of a mother which has been broken by grief, I send all my deepest wishes for healing and hope to all who have suffered in this way.

I was touched by the slogan below when my sister sent me this poster:

Every child matters.

No qualifying statements: no ‘if/then clauses’ like if they’re wealthy, they matter; if they’re white, they matter; if they’re wanted, they matter, if they’re old enough, they matter. No.

EVERY CHILD MATTERS.

When I saw a petition for equal health care for Inuit babies, I was a bit naively shocked….what do you mean, some babies in Canada often don’t receive equal care?? It seems that in their more extreme climate, many Inuit babies suffer seriously from RSV (respiratory virus syndrome), and some even succumb to it, despite the existence of a preventative antibody that is normally given to at-risk babies. It is not standardly given to them. I’m at a loss to know why. Cost, perhaps? Since when have we put a price tag on human life? Moreover, why is that price tag different depending whose child you are? Every child matters.

To say that some babies matter more than others is to commodify human beings, that is, to turn them into objects of variable worth…mere things whose value is determined by other frail human beings. This makes no sense. Either all babies matter, or none do.

Canada is such a gift. A beautiful country which is filled with so many diverse peoples. Let us please work towards making it a place where it is truly clear that every child matters, no matter what.

Dry Bones Blooming

They look like a bowl of dried bones,

cold and lifeless–

a tragic ode to time lost

and utterly incapable of change–

but look more closely!

Within their crinkled-shut hearts,

clenched in the knuckles of their bony hands,

are tiny gems

bursting with possibility!

When the sun’s warm gaze melts

the unfeeling snow

into lovely spring water,

blooms will unfurl

from these dusty bones.

After winter’s grimness,

we’ll see the world in colour again,

and the flowers will laugh

that we thought them dead.

Focused as a Flower

I wish I knew how to grow

with the single-minded purpose of flowers.

Up, up and ever increasing in beauty,

focused on the source of light and

undistracted by the tangle and clutter

of weeds and other plants nearby.

Neither thorns nor thistles

causing them to pause in self-doubt,

or think their mission would be better

if they were holding up

the heavy golden head of some other stem–

richness enough to be oneself.

Water of Life

Flowers have no muscles

yet they move

open / close

smile at the sun

kiss the sky goodnight

How is it possible?

Have you ever thought about this?

Only through their emptiness

are they able to be filled

The water of life coursing through their veins

gives them strength

Help me remember this

when I am parched and drooping

but refuse to drink

Fill me with this aqua vitae

give my spirit life

make my body rise again

to gaze at the sun

Wild and Free

I grow my garden

wild and free

I do not expect

it bow to me

My joy it is

to watch it bloom

Nor do I wish

its beauty to consume

to cut and cull

alone preserve

no longer in the wind and sun

to dance and curve

Not for me it is

to choose the day

nor the colour it shall bloom

So many shades of beauty

wild and free

Though I was the one

to plant the seeds

my garden does not belong to me

Spring

Spring is finally here.

The toddler and I are equally happy

digging in the garden

with dirt under our fingernails

and warm sunshine in our hair.

Out in the garden,

I can almost forget my messy house

–rooms cluttered with kids’ clothes and toys–

out here where dirt means not disorder,

but openness to growth

and getting messy is a necessary step

on the path to beauty.