where i came from
down in central Alberta a knot of blood kin buzzes
around oil patch and rodeo
nesting firm against fenceposts and convention; my mother
escaped that hive-mind
long ago: am I from there? my conventions
take place in foreign hotels.
a landscape’s vagaries branded on me
to the bone. a west wind
that overjoys with warmth, torments
with migraine: is this my home? I spend my time eager
in cities; the sky is the prairie’s only messenger.
came of age in tie-dye: now everyone’s dying, but some
faster than others. this is my real heritage.