at seventeen, I announced my plans to visit a different solar system;
"you're not going there!" scoffed a neighbour.
"yes, I am - I'm going in two weeks."
my visit went very well;
at eighteen, I moved to that solar system.
as a newcomer, I found myself in discussions about intergalactic matters.
I would comment on how I liked the new solar system and felt at home;
"we're not perfect," said one resident, "we have problems too."
"I know," I responded, "but the major problems in the solar system I came from
either don't exist here or are much less significant."
in honour of women who run
between ancient stone walls,
along curving seaside paths,
beneath branches of pine, maple, birch,
under expansive prairie skies -
to celebrate, honour,
to remember, mourn -
at seventeen, her residential summer job was forty-five minutes away; the moon.
forty minutes too far.
just like her town, ten minutes from the district high school;
five minutes too far;
who’d travel such a distance?
can you imagine a commute that long everyday?