One Christmas you received a set of panties
so jumbo you called them your thunderpants.
Wherever you went you went with thunderpants
in your navel. You loved the way they left deep
red runnels around your midriff, loved
them the way one loves an icky childhood
teddy. They made your butt look like a Greek
column of clouds, divined by the Delphic oracle
as omen of great olive forbearance. Such
were the days you loved your butt in billowy
rainbow parachutes. You were seven and showed
off your thunderpants to grocery store strangers
every chance you got, believing your butt
would become a skydiver or else prime minister
of Canada. Who was he who made you—
so many years and underwear sets later, in that
Honda Civic’s backseat—believe differently?
Kayla Czaga is the author of For Your Safety Please Hold On, which was nominated for the Governor General's Award for Poetry. She lives in Vancouver and works at "quite possibly the nerdiest bar in Canada," according to the National Post.