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On this highway with no cars
I travel in perfect balance, the song
and rhythm of open road, the warm whisper
of grass to wind, of throat to sky.
I gather this quiet country like a child
in my arms, feel the soft warm belly
the press of fingers in my hair
Calgary to Kingston to Calgary.
I swallow the prairies one mouthful
at a time, kiss the edge of lakes too blue
for me to bear, imagine my blue-eyed
daughter asleep in Calgary.
And in the long breath between each city
I taste the cold ache of her need for me
and know that this is the way a mother moves
east and west and east again, the slow sweet pull.
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