legacy voices*
yours is the first voice
the first story
i ever heard
yours is a story
with absolutely no
degree of separation
from the flesh
devouring flesh
experience of
orchestrated genocide
the father with
bruises that hurt
and bleed
the son inheriting
a legacy
of fresh
infected wounds
in every place
in every time
there are those
among us
that know the
impacts left
by a legacy
i heard yours
first person
for the first time
under your sky
once the home to
stars and dreams
all but smashed
to pieces by the
demon
belief
breath
smock
cloak
i learned for
the first time
how thunder can
run and hide
emerging later
to unleash
confusion
on the already
lost
and confused
will your story
emerge with
the other stories
and bring with it the
measures required by our
ancestors
or will
it rise like a tide
appearing in
settler psyche
again
and again
for generation
upon generation
upon generation
ours is the duty
and yours are the
hammer fists
that will bring truth home
denial is no longer a barrier
to sleep
yours are the legacy
voices,
to be listened to
to be cared for
to be healed
to be respected
* This poem is dedicated to the Indigenous people who survived, and those that did not survive, the Canadian residential school system. A system that was supported financially by the federal government and run by the church.
