Wonder

… for Connie

When you were a young girl,

At an unripe age,

Wind swept across your face

Blowing dirt onto your corduroys and

Littering your soil

With weeds.

 

Winnipeg. A farm.

A family.

 

That was your life,

Weeding the garden and

Wondering what the world was like.

 

You would sit by the fire,

Asking your papa,

“What’s it like out there?”

Never really getting an answer,

You would sit quietly –

Like you always did –

Staring out the window.

 

Staring out the window was your pastime,

Your escape,

A way for you to imagine

The life you would have had

If you were just a boy.

 

If you were a boy,

You would be able to ride the horses –

Not just hoe the garden.

 

Once again,

Sitting by the fire,

You ask your papa,

“What’s it like out there?”

 

Once again,

You get no answer –

you wonder.

So you wait,

And you pull the weeds in the garden.

Waiting for the answer to…

 

“What’s it like out there?”

With the overflowing garden full

Of moonlit flowers and wonder?

 

This poem is for Connie S.  Thank you for taking the time to tell me your story.

Sincerely,

Victoria