When I didn't

– because 
it was rutted gravel
danger-ish with potholes

and because Mom was
walking
watching behind
my own impatient and 
fore-going figure

and also 
there was a car
(possibly tourists, probably sane)
coming up that road
headlights putting me
the nineteen-year-old kid
on the spot – 

when I didn't,
because of all this
gravel in my shoes, 

give in and
jump-twirl
foot-to-foot jazz-handed flinging joy
across the parking lot,
something in me
cracked.

I hope it will heal with tomorrow's sunrise. 


(Gros Morne, summer 2010)