Wednesday, December 7, 2016

27 Years Ago (Dec 6 Montreal Massacre Memorial)

Engineering student,
Tall. Some boys called her

Trying to lose weight with Slimfast and water
Her body fine, though,
Her mind sharp,
Her emotions fraught by
19 years of being
a woman.

27 years ago.

I have lost her last name, but
I remember the lilt of her Newfoundland accent.

Her green hazel eyes, steadfastness,

27 years ago.

She joined me, on the
Stained, aged gold-and-olive flowered sofa we
Sprayed with vinegar, kept like the flea-ridden kitten we brought home,
The stray downtown boys who needed
a place to crash,
The stolen bar glasses that traced an evening.

The couch outlasted us - we couldn't get it back out again.
When we moved
It stayed.

We sat, clutching tissues, hunched
forward, eyes wide to absorb the flickering drama unfolding
It could be us.
It could be you, Tina.
They were engineering students.
This is Canada.

Warm Diet Pepsi to swallow the salt tears. Why?


The news anchors' hush, their drawn brows a swelling movie score,
This is where you feel. This is what you feel.

It could be us.

Well, not me, I deal in words.
Girls are allowed to do that. They give us that.
What power in words?
But don't you dare don't you DARE don't you DREAM that you
girl amazon bitch hateful cunt whore woman
don't you
take my job my math my formulas my bridges to build, my world to

27 years ago.

And now.

15 and given to 10 ISIS "warriors" to rape and rape
and rape
like a gift
like junk food
to be consumed and discarded and I wonder
when do we dare to dream? Why?
Why did I lose track of that perfectly good sofa
(Good bones, you know),
But I still have this. We still have this.

27 years ago.
27 seconds ago.

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