I am so young
I am much younger than our land
And the old ways of Cree people
I do not remember a time before
We built our homes in an arc above the shore
Believing in the rainbows that pierce the clouds
Atop the grateful aspens after the summer rains
I do not remember a time before the last time
They came with their punishing machines
To flatten the homes of my father
My grandfather and his brothers
As if eight times were not already enough
They said our land was too valuable for us
Because of what is buried beneath our feet
And worn by the bears beavers and spruce
At home in the country we share
They did not understand that our land
Is too valuable to scrape clean
For every day we mine memories there
And speak in voices that sound to them
Like falling logs and dollar signs
As we raise our stories to the stars
Now I know only the lake
Whose shining eyes follow mine
Wherever I look in every weather
And I am still even within a storm
We no longer walk for weeks to meet our neighbors
Yet we gather where we are rooted
Sheltered inside thick grass walls that slope
Toward the big water and open to the sky
Just as we have done for five thousand years
Sometimes I am glad it is still my time
To be young
is a poet and voice-over reader who daylights as a Montessori teacher in Sint Maarten. Her poems and short stories appear online and in print in North America, Asia, Europe and the Caribbean. She is the author of the poetry collections Full Moon Fire: Spoken Songs of Love and Moonchild: Poems for Moon Lovers.
