this city is red

Built on the bones of a thousand generations, this city is main street, each generation with its own stories told in back alleys and city core, hells kitchen, little chicago, with cracked blood filled sidewalks tell tales of broken bodies and defeated minds, nightmares released with each bottle emptied, inhaling a bag full of poison with visions, just to live another day, muting out the voices that hold your memories and enemies, this city is red, north end country song red, a promise followed down from a northern road, seeking a dream armed only with hope, walking down portage to wolseley to st. james then north again, with the same answer, no room, no job, don’t bother me, I’ll call the cops, shoulders lowered we carry on, finding solace in a pipe full of dreams, watching a liquid filled needle enter vein, fill with blood then empty again, spinning, spinning, always out of control, the room goes round and round, it doesn’t seem so bad now, there’s always tomorrow, a brighter happier day ahead, these are only dreams, we can’t fly, this city is red, full of lies, deceit and false promises, full of fumbling bumbling young suburban men in fancy cars with fancy ideas, full of hate and venom, they cruise selkirk, low track, higgins and main in the cover of darkness, they hunt the weak and the poor, who spit out your semen and take your cash, but they leave a little bit of themselves in you, regardless of your misplaced anger, you disgust yourself, they know you’ll be back, your hate doesn’t disguise your need, this city is red, it can be ugly and beautiful at the same time, pure white snow of winter hides the needles and the pain, sound of the drum, muted by the walls, regalia of colour flash across a gymnasium floor, the song echoes off the walls, slips through the crack of the door, the song echoes off the walls and travels down main and selkirk, west to st. james, bouncing off portage to tuxedo, blinds closed to silence the drum, nothing changes but the year, this city is red, ceremony red, silent witness to the past, held in darkness, rattling the bones that hold memories, rattle and drum speaks the old language, this song is older than this memory, voices whisper through the ghost dancer wrapped in blankets, he breaks free and speaks the old way again, this city is red, I can walk it at night, hidden in shadows, my footsteps echo yours, you walk/run to avoid your fear, that fear is me, daytime finds me invisible, you see what you only want to see, venting your rage in the local rag, haven’t we paid enough, what more do they want, get a job, work like everyone else, an eyesore, better dead than red, this city is red, a colour divided only by imaginary borders afraid to cross, hiding our faces into ourselves, but some of us sneak across those invisible lines, we tell stories, we laugh, we cry, we heal, we dance, we sing, our heartbeat is the drum, we wake the bones that rattle your hate, this city is dirty, but it’s farmer dirty, blowing in from the prairies, white skin browned by the summer sun, knows this land, they are my neighbours, this city hides its hate but we have felt it for so long, we know it’s there, buried beneath the manicured lawns, behind the drapes, inside your gates, the shadows hold your fears, holding onto your lies, this city is red, main street red, white, blue sirens criss-cross its face, the hunter becomes the hunted, covering his tracks and scent with the stink of back alleys, no one ventures there after dark, we speak to ghosts that live there, dumped outside the city limits, we become bones, part of a forgotten story, one line in the pages of this city’s past, filed away as a statistic, an unfortunate ending to a heartbeat, this city is red, a blood red history you have chosen to ignore and when you become dust, I will dance on your ashes, when the seed of a new flower blossoms, after your ashes have settled becoming one with the soil, I will dance again

sleeping with eyes wide open

mind wanders in and out

range of voices speaking in tongues

long thought lost buried in stone tablets

confusion within

no comprehension

sleeping with eyes wide open

fade in fade out

becoming blurred in my memory

where that first appeared

listing all my sins for all to see

unable to defend myself I sought penance in dreams

sleeping with eyes wide open

memories scattered

strewn haphazardly

fragments of life left behind

without rhyme or reason

swept beneath a dream

vision interrupted

imagination easily distracted

cobwebbed thoughts dust covered in the attic of my mind

sudden recognition of a familiar scent

between chance meetings on travels behind the Windsor

the music book marking the nights

losing ideas behind a haze of smoke

drifting between worlds

back alley paths littered with spent prophylactics

the soft footsteps and quiet moans

echo, echo, echo, echo

but the words of the song

remain within the walls of red city

and the freaks, gangbangers and wannabes crawl out of the ‘burbs

into the neon lit background of a downtown thought abandoned

til you peel back the dirt and concrete

looking to score

and when you rise above the stink and smog

with self induced visions

one can see the distance without borders or horizons

leaving reality unimpeded

we walk the silent streets after the city sleeps

we sing

this city is red

this city is red

i know the trails hidden beneath the concrete paths

i listen carefully

when the moon is full

i still hear its heartbeat

and the chant is never forgotten

the old ones never left

they never stopped dancing

that beat that lies beneath the soil

is slowly waking

red city

(revised September 2019)*

Three solitudes

This city

Sings a quiet song

Meeting at the junction of two rivers

Background song of drum and dance

Echoes of laughter and tears

Buried beneath the concrete

Sacred mounds long leveled

Meaning nothing

Needing space to build

Lay tracks

Displayed in glass cases

This city

Dirty sidewalks cover blood and death

A spirit left to lie alone

No name, no reason

Just a body, buried in back pages

A shrug, move on

I have lived here longer than where I was born

I walk along its concrete trails

Paths have led me through back alley dreams

Still my visions take me back

That place where the river blessed me

I could dive down deep within that clear cold water

Stretch my arms out to touch bottom

But I never could and over time

That clear cold water became cloudy

No longer clear

No longer life giving

No longer blessed

Now I haunt the urban landscape

Searching for another song

One I heard as a child

Has faded by city sounds and sirens in the night

Reaching the place where the city ends

All I see is an unending horizon

I always turn back

Face east, west, south but never north

I have left that place

I have placed my tobacco on these sidewalks

To claim this city as my home

I have done my time

Carried my share through summers and winters

I have walked those hidden trails

Followed a scent I once remembered

I have fallen

I have left a blood trail

Not knowing where it began

I have lost weekends and days

My mind cloaked with other world images

Full of color and sound

I have done my time

In the silence footfall of hidden paths

Lost then found again

Skirting a raging river

My furs piled on my back

Weighed down by a birch bark canoe

My song in Cree and French

Drifting from my lips on my sweat that hit the ground

Beneath me

To slip into the dirt

Evaporating with the birth of the new sun

Trying to catch a hand sacrificed to the river

I have done my time

My name was not mine

My words rang hollow

Yours imprinted squaw man you knew me as

While I worked beside you

Never crossing that invisible line that set us apart

Going our own way when day was done

You entered accepted you told me once

I entered ridiculed with a new label

Apple

I have done my time

I was raised to follow my father’s and uncles’ footsteps

In my dreams and in my visions they are covered with ice

And scars from felling trees and bloodied hands from setting traps

The room with the scent of sweetgrass and pelts

Casting shadows on walls inside the house

Squinting at the book I held in my hands

My kookum’s stories melding with the story I read

I have done my time

that river fed us

Quenched our thirst

She was our playground four seasons

She carried our dreams and hopes on her journey to the lake

I floated on her at dusk

Counting stars as the night awakened

while listening to a whippoorwill sing a goodnight song

I have done my time

Watched the silence blasted out of its reverie

The dust blinded us night and day

We were introduced to another reality

We weren’t ready

But I found it fascinating

And I swore I would find its source

My footsteps echo down portage and main

agamik to a place where the streets were empty               across the river

Even during the day

Words some I understood whispered behind covered windows

A flutter of drapes and an eye peeking out as I walk by

I had entered the second solitude

I have done my time

(2018)

Getting jiggie

Hey, I say

Just jiggie with the folks

Lookin’ at me like my mind is gone

Little do they know

Yeah cut the talk

The street too hard to handle

Used to dance there once

Got caught lookin’ sideways

Hey, I say

Been lookin’ for a ride

Just after midnight

Ground feelin’ shaky and headin’ my way

Saw you on the avenue

Lookin’ kind of lost

Kept turnin’ your back to the wind

No hidin’ from that in this place

Wind finds you here no matter where you hide

And no matter where you make your bed

Hey, I say

Need to move on

Can’t stand out here

Lookin’ like I need a kick

Shakin’ from the season

Birds headin’ south

Me, gotta head north

Place where I make my bed

Later, man

Catch you again next time

Hey, I say

Did I just hear a harp echo in the wind

From across the street

Maybe I’ll step inside

Just for one more

One that will carry me home

Hey, I say

later

(2015)

omasinayikesis                          one who keeps records

I don’t know what sacredness is

I cannot sit there in front of you

to say what you can and can not do

I do not know why women cannot enter the circle

Unless they wear a dress or skirt

I can’t say why an offering is placed

Or tobacco offered for council or story

I am not versed in protocol

I merely understand what is polite

I never experienced a circle as a child

(2019)

Drowning

Now years later

After the fact

You want to learn who i am

All i can say

You are learning from a man without a past

Parts of which were wiped clean

By the stroke of your pen

Now you say you are sorry

Too late

But what you once thought you were was no longer there

The damage had occurred while I was forced to sleep

Leaving behind all that i was

Drowning under the weight of your laws

Ones you considered unfair

Then fled

But you had wrapped them in a blanket you gave as a gift

You then bestowed upon me a vision of rebirth after death

When I couldn’t grasp the concept

You paganized my beliefs

(2018)

Tin can skates

Campbell’s soup, Libby’s beans cans shaped to fit over moccasins

Uncle George’s pond shoveled and swept

Willows cut and shaped to look like sherwoods

The rush to pick the side to defend

Sides not picked

The game was to chase the puck made from spruce saplings

Goal nets were overshoes

Defended by Jack Bernard (he was the youngest and smallest)

Racing across the pond as puck was chased (he guarded both goals)

Tossing his stick at the puck

Yelling, wait, wait, let me get ready

Quickly changing direction as puck changed ends

Tripping sliding tumbling over each other

Jo-Jo, nipi! Elma the door calling, Jo-jo running to the house to get some

water

Hurrying back to rejoin the game

Another voice, Ener, nipi, he’d be gone

Tossing his tin can skates aside

Returning, out of breath

“Where’s my tin can skates” (Jack Bernard had buried them in the snow)

Grabbing another pair of tin can skates from the pile

Slipping them on, rejoining the game

Forgetting what side he was on

Breakaways thwarted by tossing sticks at tin can skates knocking them off,

laughter echoing down kanaschack

Game forgotten for a time while trying to knock tin can skates off others

feet

Quick run into auntie Louise’s house for a quick sip of hot tea

(she always kept a pot of tea on the stove)

Back to the game

Sides didn’t matter

Game was to chase the puck

A shot, puck splinters into a dozen pieces

Looking for another to replace it

(Jack Bernard had buried them, scramble to see where he hid them)

A breakaway, toss the stick, knock the tin can skates off, slip, slide, run

into Jack Bernard, the yell, “I’m telling!”

Auntie, mom and kookum look out the window

All three calling, “don’t pick on the little man”

Faces wind burned, winter breath drifts away in the breeze

paymeetsu, paymeetsu, echoes from auntie Josephine’s and auntie

charlotte’s

George, Pinase, Ener scramble home

paymeetsu, paymeetsu, Jake, Norbert and Leslie toss off their tin can

skates

paymeetsu, paymeetsu, mom is at the door, Jack Bernard, Jo-jo, Charlie

and myself

Slowly walk back to the house

(Charlie lived past Campbell’s store and would eat lunch with us)

Crumple bannock and homemade bread into the ruffed grouse soup

Steaming hot, sipping it slow, only the murmurs of kookum, Elma and

mom’s voice in the background

We need wood

Dress, go back to pond, gather our tin can skates and pile them

George would be sawing logs at his house

Pinsae would be chopping theirs while Ener would gather the wood and

load his sled

Jack Bernard would sit on the logs placed on the saw horse to steady them

While Jo-jo and Charlie worked the saw

I’d gather what they cut and pile them

We’d take turns chopping them in half and take them into the porch

Uncle George would be on the pond, picking up the pieces of our

splintered spruce sapling pucks

Then cleaning the ice

To be ready for another round of tin can skates hockey in misipawistik

1950’s style

(2019)

who will wipe my tears

how will you answer

when your child asks you

what did you do when you watched

us take our last breath

what did you do

when the last river was silenced

and the water no longer gave life

where did you go to count your seven pieces of silver

did you wipe my tears knowing

that I meant so little to you

did you answer

when I asked you why

(2020)

iskotawan                            the fire is still on (burning)