When I Say

after Carla Funks poem Disclaimer

When I say, Snow, I might mean the flakes,
which fall from the sky, but maybe I mean
the colour of my Irish-grandmothers face

(lightly freckled), or my Russian-grandmothers 
hands dipped in flour, kneading dough, needing
so much more than she ever received.

When I say, Winter, I mean the coldness not only
in the world, but in the body, the starving sensation,
the longing for something to pull us close, 

the desire for someone to make us warm.
And, when I say, Yellowknife, I mean not only
the city, capital city, of the Northwest Territories,

but I mean water, rock, poplar trees in the graveyard
off Old Airport Road.  I mean the Wildcat Caf,
Bullocks Bistro, whitefish and char and I mean,

in that one word, to capture raven, fox, 
sled dog, winter camping, the sound of Tracy Rileys
voice singing (perfect tune, perfect pitch),

and the concept of what it means to come 
from somewhere because I do not, no I dont, 
really know.  When I say, Home, I mean 

dwelling, I mean mother, I mean it like a fairy tale
where everything will work itself out and the wicked
will be justly punished and the pure, the innocent

will apply Paradise Plum lipstick 
and eat whitefish with their fingers.  When I say, 
Mother, I mean land; I mean dream;

I mean smoke; I mean cathedral, 
church bells, Eucharist, thirty pieces of silver, 
potters field; I mean religion; I mean blood

and guts and love and rage; I mean
loyalty, affection and everything I had in a mother
and everything, of course, everything I didnt.

© Heather Simeney MacLeod