This is Edmonton
I wander around the city as a tourist with my head
buried in a jar.
I see people and they see me. But through the glass.
I smile, they smile.
I nod, they nod.
But if I move my tongue, I have to pull out my
dictionary.
If we have one mother, nature, why don’t we have one
language?
I love this city but I hate its weather. It’s not my
weather.
Is this a contradiction?
No,
this is Edmonton.
I sunbathe and enjoy the sparkling sunbeams over a
wide shroud of snow that covers my backyard.
But through the glass.
The sun in winter is nothing but light, I see it but I
don’t feel it. For there is no heat at 30 below.
Long sunbeams without heat, as
though castrated men.
Is this strange?
No,
this is Edmonton.
Is there an Edmonton speaks my language and has no
such winter?
