welcome to Vancouver
population: a hierarchy
of inequality
this city I call my own...
from the windows of my rented home
I watch the birds fly off and away
to the nests they've built in the 'burbs
can't help but think it's a little absurd...
you know,
some of my neighbours can't afford to stay
in this
landscape of decay
values in dis-array
this city I walk everyday
this city I call my own...
home.
for the both of you.
the air here is always damp-
wind whipped ocean-current-swells,
over-hang of clouds,
rain drops that weigh down the sky
too many puddles, never enough time to dry.
I'm wandering, I know
as I walk these streets
wondering if your ghost will pass by
mostly, I'm pretending
I'd recognize your eyes when you smile
(pretending that's still of use to you)
pretending you'd remember the last time you saw me,
pretending that I do too...
the memories littered throughout my life
have become so sparse- as if someone
is sweeping them up
no more than scattered leaves, discarded debris
lining the back ally-ways of my mind.
you always said you weren't sure you'd know how to live
in a city of open sky-
said you preferred to stay hedged in
away from wilderness unknown
(forest and field, concrete and steel)
it surrounds our careful architecture,
keeps birds on the wire...
so dark the waters, so wild the hills that reach the sky.
still, every once in awhile,
I really wish that you'd stop by.
if every city is a map of the stories it's seen,
I ask only this:
what would the rain city cry?
through it's tears of grey
falling
from an even grey-er sky
in the shadow of
those over-bearing mountains
across the dividing lines-
where charity makes a home of street corners
recruiting your ignorance to keep out the sun...
I live here too, by the way
wiping my eyes as you pass
"oh look" you say,
"it's raining on the other side of town..."
