Waves by Kris Demeanor This is the first piece written by Kris Demeanor as Calgary Poet Laureate. Presented in City Hall Chambers on March 19, 2012. My mother always claimed the safest, slowest through lane comically early Gladly hindering progress to forego the uncertainties of merging My Dad preferred the rapids to the steady stream Relied upon the abiding whims of strangers in half ton propulsions to let him in And time and time again, they let him in And whenever he angled and squeezed When signal lights and politeness collided The still hand, fingers splayed A goalkeeper after pleading the penalty kicker to wait saying okay I’m ready Or the two fingered hinge, the airforce pilot’s economical salute Or, when he really pushed it, and nearly clapped the shoulder, his family braced against the seat backs and dashboard, preparing for impact, wailing Jesus, Dad! Still the less reckless commuter moved over And the gratitude then was the full arm sweep that said – I fully acknowledge your sacrifice and need you to know it! Time and time again, his encapsulated brethren Let him in – and he let them in You don’t see this in Berlin, or Copenhagen Maybe Edmonton Hunger for connection Here is as a close a dose of humanity as the daily crush allows Or perhaps merely thirsty for basic courtesy Through 57 years of change this courtesy remained At 16, he wandered Crescent Heights with a hammer hoping for work on a construction site And now Dad has handed me that inert old shotgun from the basement shelf and pissed off to a place of moss and free range egg stands and quaint cafes And waves And his abstract landscape, the split horizon of yellowed chaff and muted blue with a solitary barn Is on the wall, a raised hand in the rearview A distant thank you for making room while snaking home from Forest Lawn Making space for four of us to wonder, and sprint, and learn, and curse, and gorge on Chinese food And drive to and from the homes we knew that blazed with life and now silently absorb the strains of strange goodbyes Like drivers spending collective months of their lives inside When trapped by the indifference of circumstance We don’t know why we do We don’t have to But because it feels right We reach out And break through