If there were any justice in the world
He would have been born the son of an Alaskan trapper.
Would have learned early to track lynx through the snow.
Would have stayed young of body
And grown old of soul
Through a life-preserving yearly ritual
Of chopping wood and
Smoking meat for winter stores.
My mother, now, she says
If the world had been made right
She’d have come of age in Paris,
To a fortune.
The only lynx in her life
Lying dead about her shoulders;
The only stores of concern
Being Chanel and Dior.
My mother’s perfume would attract bears.
Then silently wish
We could move there and find out.