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Reconciliation Realized

Aanii! Boozhoo! A welcoming salutation to strangers whose long sojourn by jiimaan , driven by billowing clouds, has brought them to our shores. Come, rest upon our mats, shelter yourselves in our lodges, renew your strength with food, quench your thirst with clear, pure water. Creator’s gifts are yours as well. No! Not ours as

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#215+

Dear Friends, What to be made of situations like these, With precedence most refused to see? When righteous anger now takes place. Where were you when wolves (viewed as sheep) were crying for wolves? Why is it we get acknowledgement now – when their bodies are no longer even cold? How to reconcile from this

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Deciduous 2020

Deciduous 2020 In North Hollow we know it usually happens this way. September meanders. A solitary maple in Hubbard’s meadow transforms red before we detect any changes in the canopies hovering the Hollow’s dirt roads. The air chills. In creeps October. Kaleidoscopic colors stain the Hollow’s sky while the maple in the meadow taunts us,

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The World is On Fire

The World is On Fire It’s Hotter Than It’s Ever Been British Columbia’s forests are ablaze burning centuries of growth killing innocent animals threatens the communities the very fabric of the civilization that produced the pollution and caused the greenhouse gases which raised the temperature of our planet. The wind blows plumes of acrid smoke

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Atmospheric Pressure

Atmospheric Pressure Let forgiveness come in like breath I did not mean to draw. Let it flow, propelled by the pressure of the entire atmosphere being greater than that of my own lungs. Let forgiveness draw into me by force, thrust and crammed in like a deep, satisfying breath like a yawn mid-sentence that you

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Down to a tea

To my exes and estranged, yet to budge from a grudge – to those who are absent to those who resent, to those who are distant with distaste: I would like to invite you to tea forty years from now when we are old, wrinkled and wringed out by the world by those things that

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Penance

(for MT) You teased, when we were girls, That my love of books and daily mass Over boys meant that I must Like girls. And I despaired for my baby soul For a week; Begged my bemused pastor For forgiveness; Tried holy water to rinse The wrongness away, Til I begrudged you The joke. Someone,

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“it was the land”

https://youtu.be/DAP59RPZoMg *Shorter version: https://youtu.be/iZ1Q9J4EBIw *Written in honour of the many children who never returned home from residential schools in Canada. “it was the land” by pj johnson Poet Laureate of the Yukon. it was the land no one knew the evil men could do behind closed doors no one spoke of it no one said

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