tim’s thought property

Until yesterday, she was here,
in the country, in the city;
living nearby and the door always open.

Until yesterday, the border patrol
never bothered to bother her,
to tell her she couldn’t stay,
to tell her that she wasn’t welcome.

Wasn’t welcome by whom?
The badge of the Canadian Customs Officer?
The Immigration Department?

None of these people showed any interest at all,
any interest, until she had to cross their paths.

Why was it such a problem to get permanent residency?
Why was it such a problem to cross the border?
Why now, was there such a keen interest?

Until yesterday, I thought there would be countless times
to get together;
countless opportunities for pictures,
for concerts,
for barbecues
and long nights of talking.
What about Scrabble,
and movies,
and all the banter that went part and parcel?

The last thing she saw here,
was a sinking sun,
on the cloud-swathed skies of the Prairies.
Navy and violet, and red and orange and yellow,
all slowly sinking west,
the direction from which she came,
and the direction I didn’t want her to return to.

The last thing she received were,
words of support,
embraces longer than usual,
solemn faces,
and frustrated goodbyes.

The last thing we saw,
was the tears in her eyes,
as she drove down to the South,
and to who-knows-when-we-shall-see-you-again.