burrard inlet (postcards from canada)

i arrive,
granville island.

my hair is down, long blonde hair softly curled.
pops of undertone baby pink peak out from the bottom,
whisperings of “i felt sad and needed color.”
i’m dressed in my favourite dress, peachy pink with floral blues.
i even do my makeup too, soft and subtle, but intentional.
a pop of glitter white in the corners of my eyes, sparkling glow.

i go to the flower shop, granville island public market,
the one i passed by many times before.
this time i go in, and i purchase a small bouquet,
purple Sweet Williams, my brothers namesake.
i see a display of white roses,
singing melodies of peace during the protest.
i buy one as well for him. i pray for his peace.
i know it’s stupid, he would tell me not to buy them.
the war is ongoing, i am his white rose.
i buy them anyway,
i don’t know how else to express my grief.
the shop keep begins to wrap them,
i say it’s not necessary, but she insists.
i let her. it’s easier this way.

i go to the docks, waiting for the next ferry.
double looks from passing strangers –
pretty girl, with a pretty bouquet of flowers,
“how sweet”, their eyes twinkle,
writing a story of a first date or to surprise a loved one.
i look back to them catching their eye and smile gently.
though i feel resentment wave through my body.
“where are you going?” i imagine them asking.
“to my brothers grave.” i want to say.
but they’d be too confused,
all they can see is ocean blue.
but no one asks. they just assume.