remember me like this:
limbs swinging, voice singing,
me swimming through the world
with fierce butterfly, arms-only,
slowest in the pool but
damn well determined to make it.
remember how when you talked
to me, you never knew where the
conversation would go,
if we would talk about mars or
cannibalism or chimpanzees
or the way the lakes freeze
in our homes. remember how i
would always talk about my home,
which is not important enough
to be interesting or unimportant enough
to be interesting.
remember how i danced with
so much gusto you wondered how i ever sat still.
remember me running, everywhere,
running because i needed to be somewhere,
running because i needed to stay awake,
running because i liked the feeling of wind
in my hair and we lived in a forest,
so the closest i got to the wind was when i ran.
remember me being fascinated by the forest,
by the bay, by the stars, by the way you laughed.
remember me trying to make sense
Eva Rodrigues is a poet from Winnipeg, currently living in Montreal. Her work, which has previously appeared in Room Magazine, Mangrove Journal, and Habitat Magazine, is rooted in transit.