Inside, you built me.
You pushed back walls, made more room for your own growing.
You demanded foundations, tested them with you concentrating feet.
You stretched up, making rafters of my ribs,
pushing into the tenderness under my heart.
The day after the shooting at the War Memorial, I spent a lot of time listening to CBC Ottawa online. The producers had opened the phone lines, asking the question “Is Ottawa a different city this morning?”