indigenous anonymous

intertwined threads

that empower men

to dictate

how "woman" we are

unfathomable that a specimen of fabric should restrict us from our ceremonies that enable others the entitlement to scold us to berate us

worker walks up to another rez shack

to fill her apprehension quota

a baby cries inside

mother comes to the door

years of caring for others caught up to her

worker came for someone else

however

takes one look at the children

fed

unwashed

one soiled diaper

the living room is messy

 mother tries to reason with the worker

no help

a cyst on her spine

doctor’s orders

 the woman who has relentlessly tried to separate this family

conveniently there to take the older three

calls herself family

has assaulted her niece multiple times

 children are ushered into the caravan

mother looks on

anonymity is never truly anonymous

 the difference the initial contact could have made

asking

acknowledging the mother’s daily struggle

let the boys play

clean the mess long into the early hours of the morning

sleep

wake up to more mess

 deepest fears realized

fears of losing children

no child care

lack of training

lack of validation

cannot trust

 overnight “relief”

turns into two

continues onto three

now four

This poem was written in under one hour as required by one of my classes. This is 100% true and an issue that is ongoing. I type this as I have been awake for almost 24 hours, traveling to be with my family. So much isn’t adding up. When I called the worker, she stated that she apprehended by siblings because of the reasons stated above - the house was “messy”, and my siblings were “messy”. The original “anonymous” call wasn’t even about my mom, it was about my sister who was not there. While my mom was under instruction from a doctor to not do any strenuous. 

The worker came by yesterday and changed the conditions of which my mom had to comply with to bring my brothers home, and has been asking her questions such as if she is depressed, inquiring about my brothers’ developmental milestones, etc., anything that would require children’s aid to open a case file.

My mom has seven boys - a 13-year old (my cousin), and the other boys are under the age of eight. Anyone who has any experience with children will tell you that kids make a mess - especially my brothers. I was home not even two weeks ago and the whole house was scrubbed top to bottom (I know because I scrubbed it). Unfortunately, because the worker showed up late in the evening, my mom hadn’t yet given them their nightly bath, and now they are separated with no contact with each other or us.

This could have such a drastically different outcome, one that did not include retraumatizing kids who have already had to deal with so much, one that did not include separation and isolation of children who have not been separated from their mother for four days and counting (something they have never experienced before). Placements with family should have been established first. Their father should have been contacted first, not 12 hours after the fact. Apprehension should be a last resort unless it is truly required in which this case it was absolutely not. 

writing is my sweatlodge

resonances of mourning dove sorrows in the distance

my morning smudge

as i try to gather my muddled thoughts

giving thanks

hearing creation wake from their slumber

 i feel obligated to apologize in advance

to whom i may offend

my statements may trigger

 please acknowledge

i was heeded no warnings

no apologies

and that has embedded resistance

resilience

my words may be unrefined

but in no way are they intentionally malicious

 systems tried to break me

instead transformed me

 these are my truths

my realities

constant

sometimes despondent

but regardless

they are mine

and occasionally

teachings

medicines

people

we must tread lightly

as the people who self-proclaim

are less likely to be

people who share

acknowledge they are constantly learning

state where their teachings originate

and where their parents come from

they consider

ponder

they don’t swiftly shoot down

others’ opinions

without remorse

and they definitely

do not claim that title

and proceed to violate children

i am twenty-one and i have no children

it is the norm among others but where i come from it’s abnormal

people joke and ask tease but they don’t realize i had two miscarriages two spirits that decided that it wasn’t yet time the loss still hurts sometimes that slap in the face every month seeing that streak of red ache in my heart when my niece and nephew smile at me

toys strewn across the lawn

been there for a day or a month

the driveway is unpaved

full of potholes

the shack sighs under its own weight

indecisive

the house smells of mold

clothes unwashed

carpet is sticky

from multiple tiny hands

black socks

because white stains

inhale the defeat and sigh

know that when you hear shrieks of joy

there are several yogurt cups

stuffed under the couch

behind the tv stand

waiting to rot

that the bedroom

has been rearranged

that the floor

needs to be swept

again

hearing "i'm hungry"

every half hour

knowing that you are

on your own

no help to be offered

his empty promises

and beautiful lies

from dawn until dusk

my twin flame

is a white man

 when i was younger

i always felt obligated

to have dark-skinned

dark-haired

brown-eyed native babies

 i don't mind now

if they have pale skin

light hair

or eyes that reflect

the ocean

with hints of grandfather sun setting on the horizon

 because i see in him

what i see in me

an incomplete being

tirelessly working

to reconnect with mother earth

and all of creation

it doesn’t matter

if you were traditionally taught

learned through life experience

was taught by this one elder

went to public school

struggled through university

or all of the above

and more

there will always be a select few

that will try to disprove

your knowledge

there is no right or wrong

only yours

know your own truth

people say

our ceremonies were lost

our language was lost

our culture was lost

this is untrue

if you stop and listen

how the trees

sound like jingles

in the breeze

mother earth is healing

she remembers

she knows

we may have forgotten

how to understand her language

reconciliation

 a one-way street

apologies for historical horrors and holocausts

“it’s time to move on”

except no one wants to right their wrongs

come child

we need to talk

pay no mind to what you see and feel

believe what I tell you

as I had to believe in others

ignore the mothers weeping as their newborn babes are transactioned

to grow up unloved, abused, assaulted, but “educated”

unless you’re educated you’re worth nothing

turn away from the women who learned they would never feel the fullness of motherhood

the families wailing for their little one who didn’t come home from school

the toddlers who wonder why their mother didn’t love them enough to stay and

the millions of graves as a result of one tattered blanket

forget the families now displaced because their grandmother loved a white man

or their grandfather wanted to fight in the war or to get an education

disregard the fact that treaty protocol was not heeded

that Canada was birthed from the blood and bodies of its Indigenous

the lies and the promises and the greed

don’t try to run away child

that black car isn’t here for you

so many recommendations created only to sit at the back of the bookcase to rot

come child it’s time to celebrate

overlook the hateful remarks that are directed towards you and your loved ones

the fear you experience when you hear a van or truck slow down behind you

‘welfare bum’, ‘freeloader’, ‘savage’, ‘injun’, ‘squaw’, or otherwise do not apply to you

there is no need to feel offended because you’re not like the others

forget about your dying family and friends

words don’t break bones

they only take lives

stop wondering why their death was ruled ‘not suspicious’

even though they were found in a ditch, in a forest, in an alleyway

or in a garbage bag at the bottom of a river

disregard your fear that you will be next

plenty of people of other races go missing every day

pay no mind to the fact that you must buy bottled water because your water now runs black

that you cannot brush your teeth or bathe in your own home

don’t complain about your leaking roof or your molding walls

if you really want a better life you can just move

get inspired

get educated

get funded

by the same corporations that are destroying your communities

it has been 150 years

we should be celebrating

be grateful

we shouldn’t even be here

thank the white man for our english

corporate profits

exploitation

ignorance

our indian card

here’s to opportunity

it’s time to pow wow

show others our cute outfits

it’s time to paint pretty pictures that

people can buy and hang in their million-dollar mansions

to feel better about themselves

we are worth nothing if we do not profit

it’s time to get our tables selling authentic shoes and earrings

for others to wear and have others admire

as a keepsake for athletes

that Canada can be proud of

let others admire our mother’s braided hair

and steal her sacredness

hanging on the rearview mirror

 under the guise of reconciliation

a cell phone can inspire so much pain

the bearer of bad news

cause of anxiety

but it is not the phone

the phone is just a messenger

 fingers quivering as blue light illuminates

“something happened”

two words that would change my life forever

that would affect my concentration at school

memories infusing in every cell of my body

guaranteeing to haunt my children and grandchildren for years

inhale

“what?”

exhale

the wait was excruciating

the nine hour distance that once gifted relief

now threatened to make my heart shatter

 images

of the woman who birthed me

who wasn't able to raise me

covered in purple and yellow and green

imprinted onto skin

bite marks promising the transition of scars

her eyelids swollen

in defiance

growing up

i believed

he had his shit together

what i didn't know

that in reality

it was anything but that

she raised us

in deceit

claiming to put our needs first

excuses for blatantly lying

why we had empty beer cans

stashed in drawers

cases stuck under the stairs

taking care to throw a blanket over

praying we would not notice

as i aged

the pain in his eyes

came into focus

like i was seeing for the first time

i remember the confusion

of knowing the truth

and the feeling of being lied to

and i knew it

as soon as i had enough

she cast us out

leaving just the three of us

me

him

and his addiction

 it has such a strong grip

that when i look at him

she wants out

but there's nowhere to go

the door's always open

she's the one to close it

back into his arms

after he bruises her face

abuses her body

she holds her child fearfully

who has seen it all

cut hands trembling with trauma

 she was abused

emotionally

physically

sexually

made to think she's worth nothing better

 he was raised this way

not knowing how to be a man

angry

lost

colonized

not excuses

just the truth

what is being indigenous?

is it a laminated card in your wallet

begging to be used?

is it the colour

of your eyes

your hair

or your skin?

is it the quantum

of your blood?

is it ceremony

dictated by lateral violence

or where

your footsteps

lead you

and where

your soul