To the girl writing in a cafe

My words look like your words but they are not.

My word doc looks like yours, my computer screen mirrors yours, my face reflected not yours.

The difference, my story could not be told by you, could not be told like yours, with ups and downs, brown sweaters and up-do's growing up.

Mine: hours locked in the bathroom while my sister pounds and yells, I know you're wearing my bra! Why don't you just admit it? I won't even be mad!

Your parents putting you in soccer, piano, making you do homework as soon as your feet step inside this house.

My school work barely being done, but reading books like breathing; late for school every day but the ones with early morning band rehearsal.

And why do you write? Do you write because you have to, a requirement, a stepping stone, nothing more?

Or like me, can you not live without it? Do you starve, like the roots of a plant in the desert, searching, going down, further further to get to that soil with moisture, that lifesource and drive never ceasing, growing stronger with the days.

Do you need to sit by the window in order to think? If you write crap do you sink, feelings of worthlessness hitting you like that softball to the nose when you you were ten? Tell me, why do you write, headphones plugged in, do you even listen to music, or like me, do you wear them to block out the world, that world that inspires and tires you; that you need to write about and that you run away from, for fear that once you start you won't. ever. stop.

My eyes are burning from staring at the screen.
People are rising, people are singing. On the streets with you, I feel the reverberation of your drum hum its way through my chest.

Song 

Check out this excerpt from the site: freegrassy.org

The people of Grassy Narrows have sustained themselves for thousands of years on their traditional territory – 2,500 square miles of forest, lakes, rivers north of Kenora, Ontario.  Now plans for clear-cut logging, mining and the legacy of residential schools, hydro damming, relocation, and mercury poisoning threaten to uproot their way of life. 

I'm writing in a room with no ceiling light. The lamps are dim, so I turn on the hallway light, hoping it will brighten the room a bit; its hard to concentrate in the dark
This song is playing: Twilight, the Band

Hydro damming
feed the bright lights of the towns and cities. brighter Brighter.
Hydro damming
its renewable, 'its their lifestyle that isn't'
feed the bright lights of the cities, towns. brighter Brighter.
Lights flicker.
Hydro damning
to a life without land
without trees; feed the lungs of the earth. hungry Hungry.
Lights dim.
Hydro damning
the waters are managed like kids  in collared shirts from a browned photo. whiter, Whiter.
Lights go out.

*          *          *
I'm going to speak with a member of the Women's Drum Group at Grassy Narrows, and Chief Simon Fobister this Tuesday on NSN: ckut.ca about their 10th anniversary of the blockade on their territory. Tune in at 6pm eastern or catch the show after on our archives.

Little Bird

I sometimes feel like I'm copping out of politics. I sometimes feel like the big problems need bbbig solutions. i sometimes feel like i'm happy where i am with people and conversations, like i fit. I sometimes feel llike a letter plus a letter make a word, and a word and a word make a story and that's big. I sometimes feel like it isn't. Sometimes I wait til I'm old so I know the importance of little things.

Hey folks! Welcome to Bird call!
A little Thursday commentary on CBC coverage of Winnipeg's awesome hip hop group and Aboriginal Music Awards winners, Most's decision to purchase headstones for 2 mudered Indigenous women.

Here's a link to the piece: http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/story/2012/11/14/mb-winnipegs-most-headstones-murdered-women.html
... and info about Most: http://rpm.fm/artist/winnipegs-most/

I am glad that the CBC is covering this, and is expanding the public's awareness about the cases of murdered Indigenous women in Manitoba, and about what this amazing group is doing to honour them. The heading: 'not just sex trade workers' is, however, demeaning and perpetuates stereotypes about missing native women, about sex workers, and about who is worthy of safety. It implies that it is somehow more expected or acceptable for women who are 'just sex workers' to be murdered. It also suggests to us reading the article that we should take more interest in these cases because these women were not 'just sex trade workers.' We need to denounce violence no matter who is targeted, and rather than looking at what kind of woman is being harmed, recognize that it is the perpetrator who is resonsible and to be held accountable. And that it is Canadian society, that devalues and does not protect women and girls, particularly Indigenous women and girls, who is also responsible. Let's follow Most's lead and take actions to send a message of love and support rather than opening the door to victim blaming.

Looking for answers,
scratching hurried words
with an obstanant pen
old and
dry

I ask questions on
the airwaves
in soundproof boxes; rooms
with damp carpet and years of searching
embedded in cedar walls.

I ask questions because
I am afraid of statements.
I am not an expert
not even of myself.

You let me ask,
you travel with me on wires, chords, through screens,
you are there with me in the ambiguity, in the between spaces.
You are there, holding my voice, humming, the vibrations feeding my comfort raising questions.

Together we search and we don't find answers.
That's not really what we want.

The longest War

Cultural casualty.

Should I wear Black?

Cultural casualty

Plastic faces push me back.

Cult

   ural casualty –

She fell from constant attack.

A shared story.

Don’t know the pressures on her back.

Her choice;

Cultural causality.