1978-2007

(a true story for the living)

After this morning's breakfast
with an angel
and the afternoon warmth that
reminded me of possibilities,
I looked at the map of Toronto and drove
to Mimico Creek;
where ducks swim
beneath trees in the valley
in the river flowing unfrozen
-walking across wood bridges
with no snow beneath my feet-
I'd never been there before
and wanted to explore:
cute girls with dogs
and senior citizens smiling
the thaw in winter
is what we live for, I
don't mind telling you,
it's our little secret.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the park it
was in my car
on Rexdale Boulevard
by Woodbine Racetrack when
I realized I was having a
panic attack:

it must have been God telling me that
another one of my classmates had died.
My body understood it, felt the news
though I hadn't heard the words
pounding in my chest.

At 427 and Eglinton, afraid to close my eyes
-is it my diet?
....but I had veggies at breakfast-
so why this awful dread?
I silenced my music
and stared at the road
80km/hr in the slow lane
opening and shutting the windows didn't help so
hoping for a friendly voice to help me home, lightheaded with a
knot in my neck
I flipped on the radio

it was 3:45pm
12 hours after his accident
I remember thinking I must get home; there's nothing more lonely
than dying on the road
I told myself I'm not ready
because I didn't want to die alone
-so breathing deeply, panicking, I drove home.

Precisely at that moment on AM 640 the newswoman said
a bright young police officer named
Davis Ahlowalia was
killed in a tragic crash this morning, along with two others
whose names have not been released.
I didn't make the connection until the announcer said
he was 28 years old.

I was suddenly calmer and deeply sad
I said a prayer:
I don't believe he's dead
please, oh please, get Davis
home, and
get me home

I think of the wounded survivors, Matt and Stevie Moore;
I remember Graeme and Stu and Adam-
plane, car, and tragedy-
and I marvel at how long I've been along this road and
wonder
why I haven't died
and at home in my inbox were urgent emails
from old friends;
so I wrote this for them
to let them and my dead friends know how
we know they haven't died.

Gentlemen: we have lived well, and suffered much.
There is nothing words can say today -
and yet, I think, if we have lived well, somehow that is enough.