Excerpted from Borderline, Anvil Press, 2020, pages 113—117. Reprinted with permission.

Something really serious happened last week. Serious as a heart attack. Serious as an explosion in a daycare. Serious as a little girl drowning in a pool on a Sunday afternoon. We were walking slowly along Ontario Street, me and my two mothers. I was between the two of them and they were holding my hands. My arms in the air like an Olympic athlete who’d just finished their competition. I was probably thinking of the toys they’d just bought me and the fun I’d have playing with them. Then a man came along. I didn’t see him but I felt him. I felt my mother’s nervousness in my hand. I didn’t need anything else. I knew I was in danger. I wanted them to let go of my hands so I ...