Buried Breath, 2024Some boundaries cannot be undone, As a vow broken is a restless curse, That lingers, until the end of time... Like a scar that continuously tears open. Forgiveness is a dream not easily felt, As healing only enacts as fast as each lash. So inevitably, mistrust festers into watchful beings... Boundaries lead to borders. Borders lead to ceded control. Control strips and tears at what could have been. Power is granted to the few and leaves a toxic resin. Fossils of burnt bodies, ravaged by time. There isn't a moment that can be taken for granted. So even among the stain, the colonialists refuse to acknowledge, the borders are built up illusions of white refuge. A dream built off boiled blood, lost in tides of fictional tomes. Pages of filth that filled innocent mouths with dreams of death. How can you turn away from your toxic costs. When you traded your eyes for power did your soul dissolve as well? Does it feel good to build invisible walls that separate godliness from grace. How pure does it feel to build an empire of deficits? What darkness turned rolling hills and lives into commodities? These fields of death and memory are a shield for the future.... A known gift, we have always been, and we need not reclaim. We will undo these borders and remind each other to build communities... These bonds will bring whole health and healing in-between, All the beings, alive, dead, and awaiting. Your borders are the lie that keeps us from one another. We are stronger, with roots that lead to one another. This is why the colonialists will fail because connection has always been deeper, Then your broken, bootless, borders... rinse and repeat, 2023published by the University of Waterloo, UWspace, 2023. Discordia (Victims of Indigestion), 2023What does it feel like to be tossed aside? What does it feel like to be neglected? Why is your body so feared and disregarded? My body sees your value. I know your worth. I love you for being. Breathing is heavy In a culture that wishes to destroy all... of... you... Every... heartbeat... is... resistance.... As if you could help who you are? I take hatred and turn it into nutrients I no longer hate myself for others' violent amusement Your growth comforts me As Intentional bonds run deep Finding the inhospitable cracks to grow My body is inbetween Wrecking havoc on a Taxonomy that was not meant for me I am not as scared as I used to be You have taught me to be drought resistant My queer enby disabled relentless body Sometimes I forgot that I am the child in this relationship Your ever present abundant joy singing silently. In deep woods I find you Transforming matter with your wisdom into life You risked your being by crawling onto land Deep magic seeding growth Upon the land and in my soul Green tides of habitable wealth Did you dream of me? Did you call me to you? Did we dream together and reach out to find one another? My fear of your loss Keeps us bound together and we learn to grow In this inhospitable violent colony Our death is inevitable Like the exploding sun But at least we have each other Stretching time and space With our collective collision After all our body is one. untethered dreams, 2022In a dreamlike fugue, I can smell the trees, moss, and leaves. The sweet perfume of forest decay. A vision of moisture and green. Roots are beneath my feet and a fallen log lays to the side. Small feet move unseen, barely audible. Twigs snap in the distances as birds hurtle through the branches. My presence is accepted as life continue to hum. My motions are slight almost unnoticeable. The pieces that make up me become part of the transition. Feeling the push and pull of the lives in connection. A fullness that weighs into my senses This isn’t a moment in time, it is all of time. Rippling, giving, and taking. An inhale of ecosystem, and a soft exhale of an inheritance As it has been and will continue to be A connection, A feeling, A reason for being. There was a time in my childhood where I only dreamed of moss forests under large trees, with vague patches of sunlight sifting through the canopy. I lay in my bed, dreaming of forests that I knew existed if only I could find them. I spent years looking for these mossy spaces in the boreal woodland of Alberta, but I could never find them. These forests were older, and wise with a booming voice that echoed through root systems. If I could find these forests, then maybe I would find the piece of me that was stuck there with them? Surely, you have had similar dreams? Ones where your heart is full, and you feel home… A home that reverberates out of your sleep and into the conscious realms? As your unconscious whispers secrets of what was, or sometimes what is, and maybe even what could be? If we met in our dreams, then maybe we could find freedom running through the old growths and napping on the moss beds. Picking the blueberry bushes and finding the hidden strawberries. Nothing is more wonderful than encountering a hidden raspberry bush, buzzing with pollinators, with the ripest berries ready to fall into your fingertips. We could share the rush of the world…. Until we wake up We could follow the streams as they trickle over the stones towards a deeper pool, just in time to watch the tadpole’s hatch. The pool is an ethereal swirl of deep blues and greens, nearly black until the sun hits the water's surface to illuminate what lies beneath. As the light refracts its glow unto our faces, we can peer into the depths and see the minnows and slippery beings. Our reflections stare back at us when the sun moves high in the sky… Until we wake up... If you follow me down this path, I can show you the entrance of a cave! The cave is cool, and the opening is small but inside are wonders you won’t see in the sun. After squeezing through the entrance, smelling the body of the earth, and the moisture of the stream that trickles from one wall to join with a larger flow. You can see the roots poking through the cave ceiling, shining small dots of light that guide us through the tunnel. As we move through the tight space, there is an opening ahead. We giggle and gasp when we see a large smooth translucent white rock jutting from the ground. It looks like an icicle, but it seems to grow where the water trickles in from above. We touch the cold wet surface and feel the connection of water and earth. This hidden cave is another escape we…. Until we wake up Because when we wake, we know the truth. That our shared inheritance is being torn apart for commercial enterprise. A cycle of abuse that ruins our chances to live a life of true wealth. The wealth of the earth, of oxygen, water, food, and mirth. How our bones are dragged through broken machines of a system that gleans our sweat as plants crave morning dew. This violence that continues to grow and seep into our souls. Maybe if you feel it too, we can bring our dreams into the conscious realm to overcome this sacrifice for business’s price. My voice alone would remain unheard, but with some numbers there is a chance to gain a healthy world. The strain I feel is also felt below, the mycelial roots won’t grow in my garden as it lacks the complex nutrients and ecological support that exists outside the colonial grasp. This is not what I agreed to, to live a life so sustained while the beings around me are starved and consumed for one's gain. The human gain. The colonist's gain. The capitalist gain. The master’s gain. I did not agree to the gains and rewards that render rest and rejuvenation into retrograde. I do not agree to have my flesh become the feast for economic decay. I will not agree to sit and watch my non-vascular friends be burnt with grassy seed to be blown away by desert dreams. My dreams are fractured in reality as the foundational ecological decay is burnt away in the urban sprawl and pollutants are injected into the water cycle. The layers of rich mycelial rot in the damp earth cannot be stopped. 4 point 5 billion years of life cannot be undone by the colonial rule of extraction, whereas the mammalian kind who have lived a fraction of time can have their genetic memory wiped out. 178 million years of erasure is just some of the extent of white Anthropocentric violence, it stretches back into evolution to erase our ancestors. Power and greed clutches onto the life and death of the devalued. This is not my dream... I lay with moss and my ancestors, under their warmth and protection knowing that I will return to the earth, becoming deep rich nutrients. The choices we make lead the way to who we relate to and care for. Would you like to dream with me? Unite in a conscious and unconscious intent? Giving more than passing time is required for collective unity. The Knife, 2019The morning is blinding. The light cuts harshly into my eyes. An intensity arises in my family’s bodies, making me move in small motions. I lean close to Father, always right, always teaching. Excitement giggles up in my cold extremities. The pole begins to shake, the line tightens.
“Get Ready”, says Father. A splash comes from the dark circular hole. The stark white surrounding the dark circle seems endless. Father grunts, as the line tightens further. My thoughts are racing, my heart pounding. Brother’s large boots are beating up the snowy lakeside. He leaves a deep trail in the fresh snow, carrying his gun. “No pheasants or deer”, he reports. Seeing the tight-wiggling line he grabs the bat sitting next to Father, preparing. Father smiles. He seems happy. The labour of pulling and reeling the line takes forever. Finally, a shout of triumph. The dark hole births a massive fish. About the size of my arm, maybe my head. Mr. Fish is swinging wildly making a scene. The scales glimmer, reflecting the light of the harsh world. Fear grips me. Mr. Fish comes seemingly from nowhere, but the dark hole. I jump back, needing distance between the hole and I. Brother chuckles at my reaction. I flush. I need to be tough. So, I smile back bravely. A fast nervous glance creeps in me - watch the hole. “Put the bat down. Today is daughter’s day.” Father announces. I look up confused. He motions for me to follow, away from the hole. I follow. Escaping, gaining distance with short legs. The hole is a portal, of endless depth. It gazes. Mr. Fish is dancing joyously. Finally free from the dark circle. I smile. Attempting to run up to Mr. Fish, fumbling in the deep snow. Father stops in front of the tent trailer. He asks Brother to grab the Knife. “daughter is going to learn, the tradition, of how to prepare our food.” Brother nods grimly. He must be sad to lose his task. Joy leaches into my being. I get to be! I get to do! A task causes pride to swell within me. I leave my position of observer behind. The observer was left at the hole. Brother passes Father the Knife. Father carefully takes Mr. Fish off of the retriever. Mr. Fish is not dancing as Father holds Mr. Fish’s body to the snow. “Come”, says Father, kneeling in the snow. I lean in closer. Still not as tall as kneeling Father. Father passes me the Knife, pointing towards Mr. Fish’s belly. Gripping the Knife, I say “Here?” Tracing Father’s movement. Father nods, with a small smile on his mouth. Father takes my hand with the Knife. He changes my grip and guides my arm towards Mr. Fish. The Knife slides in and sticks. Father pushes harder and a snap is felt. The Knife glides through mr. fish, with a click. Click. CLICK. mr. fish begins to leak. I try to pull away. Father’s arms and hands keep me locked in. Red spills onto the freshly packed snow. Terror fills my body fiercely. I thrash and Father lets go. Father groans with annoyance. Brother laughs. Tears fill my eyes as I stare at mr. fish and the red snow. I run towards the tent trailer wildly. Abandoning mr. fish. Sadness, Guilt, and Fear overwhelm me, too much to process. “Daughter, come back!”
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