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?
in the room there is a chair - the only piece of furniture left.
it is being given away.
on the chair is a vase.
nobody knows quite how the vase arrived in the family,
but it’s like it’s always been there.
when the new owners of the chair come and pack it up,
the vase is gone.