John-Ward Leighton

SEVENTY-ONE

Charlotte Leighton: April 22, 1945 – May 14, 2003Hi Sis,
The time has flown and you have been gone
four years tomorrow.
The pain of your departure
is blunted somewhat
into a lingering sorrow.
I still talk to you
but like the conversations
with Dad and Mom
the conversations
are with myself
with many questions unanswered.
Know that you are remembered
and still dearly loved
and still live in our hearts.
I know I can safely
that you are in a place of honour
with Bob, Bonny, Johnny, and Rina
and even little Conner.
He came along after you left
and if there is a spirit world
I know you shared in the joy
of his appearance
life going on, as it should.
I’m seventy one today
and laying low
this being an unlucky day
with a grey and unpromising start.
The turgid pace of this poem
no song here
at least not in this part.
The sound track set to distant stations
playing tunes from the year
just before you were born
and I was a small boy.
I was alone on a prairie farm
well not alone
but the only children
were on a farm
two mile away.
School was three miles away
and I used to ride my pony
every day
and stable her at the school’s small shed.
Most of the kids walked the distance
and I was one of the lucky ones
having a pony.
Looking back I now realize
that the Brocks’ spoiled the hell
out of me.
You came along in March of forty five
and I was soon recruited to help Mom
at that little house
on the North side of Portage La Prairie.
We used to go down to the little park
on the North side of the tracks
across from the CPR station
and watch the trains
working in the large rail yard
between the tracks
where the two rail lines came together.
You in your carriage
we would give Mom
a break and an afternoon to herself.
You were Dad’s favourite
but Bob and I never
resented that
because you were our favourite too.
Perhaps I shouldn’t say this
but after the death of Dad
you became home base for Bob,
Bonny, and me;
a place we went when wounded
in body and spirit.
You provided solace
and even administered a swift boot
when it was required
and we were feeling sorry for ourselves.
So Sis
“We miss you girl.”
And where ever you may be
on this Mothers’ Day
and your older brother’s birthday
we send our love.
Son of a gun
I’ve made it to
seventy one.