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I am from Canada
From the spruce trees in the backyard
And the snow-tipped mountains that touch the sky
From cold mornings at the bus stops where I could wait to get to school
And the hot afternoons spent at the quarry
From friends and family visiting from the prairies for holiday
Playing with my cousins and dogs in the soccer field until it is time to eat
I am from the skatepark where I spend countless hours trying to learn something new
Where I'm taught to get up after I fall
I am from the cold winter, where frost covers the windows in the morning
From the snow squeaking beneath my feet when I walk
From the cold breath I see when I talk
And not being able to feel my toes–this is how a winter in Canada goes.
I am from the hot dry summers in Canada
Where the squeaky snow turns go to crunchy grass
I’m from the rivers that run fast after the ice melts
Where the river gets high enough to swallow houses
Then the summer comes to an end and then winter comes again
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