Luminous

On a September evening in Winnipeg, my poet friend makes a family meal of sweet potato and black bean burritos. Meeting in graduate school, I have always loved our conversations, loved her poetry that I’ve read for 20 years. I spent the day with her in museums and gardens. But, this is my first visit since I completed oncology treatments. I do not feel like the person she has known.

Tonight, I try to hide my fatigue as her husband builds a campfire, as the 7 year old dashes by with the frenetic energy of the last days of summer break. The 17 year old, neurodivergent from a rare form of epilepsy, focuses on the smores, rejecting rosemary crackers and cream cheese in lieu of graham and marshmallow.

I wanted to say something that eases the repeating conversation before realizing that the only anxiety here is only mine. I’m sorry, my friend says to her son, we’ll go to the store tomorrow. Tonight, it is rosemary and cream cheese smores.

Well, I can dance, I suppose, her son replies.

So she and her sons dance under the oak tree to their dad’s 70s playlist. Then, she touches my hand, and I find my feet in their circle.

We put our arms up and bounce; we moonwalk and waltz; we clap and boogie. And she effortlessly loves us.

That’s how she does it, I think, as my friend smiles and dances, luminous as a poem, with the people she loves.