End of Series: Weyburn

 I am moving on from here now.

A story is closed... a new chapter opened somewhere.

I will have to find it.

So...

Epilogue

Weyburn Yellowgrass You Me We All Too

Two fathers buried there now, Weyburn?

If not, I can help you with that.

Maybe in Yellowgrass

Or maybe even in Mauritius?

Where the wind nor the dirt makes no difference

Except perhaps their disregard of folly with which we encumbered history,

For a family is was will be built there,

Like to Yellowgrass where I go again this late summer

With a daughter to visit gravestones slowly multiplying,

For there is no escaping the living graves of our history...

All of us immigrants of innocence.

Psychiatry our fathers shared

They cared

Then politics and history again

Rewrote rewrites erased erases their efforts

One of colour

One white

Both dead except

Alive a flame

That they each one mattered too.

I loved love my father

Regardless of political erasure

So too can you I know you do too.

What is this faux Canada

Who we all fails to recognize

That born here innocent

I am the me we all indigenous

Me

and

You?

Yes, us we too

An uneasy comfort

In the embrace of our shared history.