Otonabee Girl

26 September 2007

The naked, sqalling cherub of 1969
is no more.
Nor the C-note kid, coolly sizing up the candy store.
While the lithesome girl of sixteen years,
clad in frank gaze
and borrowed, sexy underwear,
stares
from a fading colour print.

These are but chimera;
the true ghosts;
traces
encoded in the fickle chemistry
of memory.

Sad, these versions of ourselves
lost to the past?
Put out your God-eyes!
History
is the fully human measure.
Change and loss, growth and novelty
our responsibility
and our birthright.

Here
on the keen-edged knife of the present
rippling under the skin of time
she is flesh.
Mine to have, hold and love.
Better than any ghost
or imagined past.

Voyageur,
take up your paddle.
The Otonabee of time awaits.

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