The importance of this place


Jessie Warren

Erin and I holding hands through the car window on our way back from a Whitecaps game.

For the longest time, she denied this place—

this place where razor scooters once danced upon the pavement,

and the voices of friends bounced in and out of clarity.


Something about it always felt easy to give up,

perplexing in its importance,

the beginning of a life that

was destined to keep on moving—

keep on changing.


But then she learned to drive,

and now even from the passenger’s seat

she gets the point.


The point is that the trees here are aquamarine as they meld with the sky,

blending to create something beautiful.


The point is that day and night both promise something apart

far greater than anything she and her friends could do combined.


The point is that we hold hands through car windows—

that is the kind of people we are,

the kind of people we always will be.


That is a part of this place,

a piece she can never deny.