They met in 1948
by the backyard fence
between their new houses.
I imagine that first smile
between them, their hands
fluttering to rest
at paired waistlines expanding
with life. I see this moment
dressed in A-line skirts and nylons
with a seam behind the leg.
It smells of lemonade
and dandelion seeds, dried paint
on white picket posts, it pales
under the glare of a wide Regina sky.
It is only an imagining, born
of loneliness, born of that child
Grace carried, who would
become my mother. I try to see
the pair of them, young, still new;
Dorothy and Grace, who would
raise their children together
in the days when men were mostly away,
their friendship deep and easy
as the summer day that gave it to them,
a gift of sunlight, fresh air, and time.