Québec at night
walking on crushed ice
under the streetlights.
From our lips smoke rises.
You break down.
You finally break down.
“We are not us.
There is another us to us.
We are not special.
We are no longer special.”
Lying on the couch.
A little bit faded,
Waiting
for the wave to pass.
The tide’s always changing.
This footing is shaky.
“We are not us.
There is another us to us.
We are not special.
We are no longer special.”
Breakfast over crepes
drizzled in maple.
Canadian staple.
Fear finally wanes.
Laughter is easy,
like it’s always been.
"We are us.
There is no other us.
We are special.
We will always be special.
We will always be special.
We will always be special to me."