A few weeks ago, I was in Saguenay working on a couple of stories. Sitting in the ruins of the old Pulperie on a sunny day, I wrote this little reflection on my upcoming immigration limbo:
In Chicoutimi on business
I stand on a viaduct
overlooking La Petite Maison Blanche
and a skate park.
A shirtless kid, white as a fish’s belly, rides a rail
And his wheels hit the ground with a crack.
I’m reminded of the skate park in the bud-shaped shadow of the Human Rights Museum in Winnipeg.
Winnipeg! As distant as Jupiter, but still…here.
It dawns on me that I’ve seen more of this country than that kid, who was born here, probably has…and much more of this country than I ever have of my own.
Where else could home be but here?
That is, if such a thing as home exists
For someone like me.