Elbows up for Mom,
hauling laundry baskets up and down three flights of stairs,
gasping at soap operas with her hands full,
tucking corners tight on hope
and threadbare sheets.
We never needed a flag to keep us warm.
Elbows up for the classmate who always brought
an extra sandwich,
just in case someone else forgot their lunch.
He never asked where you were from,
only if you’d eaten.
Elbows up for the friend
who picked up a wrench,
not a rifle,
who fixed your brakes in the rain
and said: pay me in community.
Elbows up for every kitchen
where spices from around the world live,
for the street sweepers,
for the daycare workers,
for the grocery clerks,
for the nurses who speak three languages
because healing is universal.
Not Canadian enough?
They’re the ones who kept the whole country breathing.
Elbows up for the Filipino brother
who sends home half his pay
so his sister can build a roof.
Elbows up for the Syrian mother
learning English on night shifts,
still finding time to coach soccer.
Elbows up for the union hall,
the picket line,
the classroom where kids learn
how not to repeat history.
Elbows up for Louis Riel,
called a traitor,
called a rebel,
but he was a teacher,
a dream too bold for borders.
They hung him,
then put his face on a stamp.
We remember the man,
not their hypocrisy.
Elbows up for the Wet’suwet’en matriarchs,
for the Black dockworkers of Vancouver,
for the trans youth in the prairies
who show up
Every
Day.
Not for an anthem,
But for each other.
Elbows up, not to block,
but to build.
To pass the bricks.
To stir the pot.
To hold the baby while someone else rests.
Because borders don’t bind us,
solidarity does.
So elbows up for the world
we’re making together.
Author
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