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The Poetic Word

A place called home

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Photo Credit: Roberto Nickson

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

I am currently a teacher in Nemaska, Eeyou Isstchee, Quebec for this school year, teaching creative arts for grade 7-9s. My transition from Toronto to here has been a roller coaster, and I was confused by all the strong mixed emotions. It wasn’t until I flipped the first few pages of ‘Going Home, The Untold Story of The Nemaska Eenouch’ by Susan Marshall with George Wapachee, that I finally started to understand…

 

A place called home

Away from home

A place made to be called home

After being forced out

From the place that was called home

 

A place where elders found life

To a place that their ears cringed

At motor vehicles

Evicted by electric hydro company

A battle that seemed endless

For the Cree people

 

A place deep in the bushes

Filled with lifestyles that were present

Since the very beginning

A place where children begged their families to stay,

When that plane came to enter Old Nemaska,

To the residential place

Filled with assaults and endless hunger for days

 

A place that birth mistrust, even amongst the closest of kin

A place where metal rulers met the tender skin

When tears were overflowing with memories

That brought smiles to frowns on the kids

 

A place called home

Far away from home

A place filled with delicacies like beaver, moose & geese

To expensive imports

 

To one school

A close

Yet circular housing of separated relatives,

The remnants of colonial influence

Spread into heads

Stirring bad aftertaste

Whenever traditions

Could be used passed on

Such as the ceremony of smudging

 

A place that hides way too many stories

So outspoken like a rooster early in the morning

Yet the rage hungers like animals awoken during hibernation

For not having satisfaction of being full during autumn

 

A rage that plagues like the thick blanket of snow

Covering the peaceful lake that reveals the name it means

‘Land of Plenty of Fish’

 

A place that deserves the love

And should receive more love…

But often is forgotten within the blizzards

 

A place called home

Away from home

Beside the Champion Lake

A place that was forced to be born

More stories to tell

Among the young and the old.

 

Don’t know how long

Will the duration of this stay last

Before the feet on this land departs back

Into a city where memories of home stands

But the stories of the people of these land

Will be written and read

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The Poetic Word

Sweet Child

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Photo Credit: AI Generated

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

A rejuvenating, sweet, innocent newborn scent that can melt the coldest of hearts.

A salve that soothes the itchiness left by worldly scars.

First of everything,

From smiles to sounds can bring peace

Piercing heavy clouds.

 

The purity of a child brings wisdom that can humble

The wisest of teachers from afar.

In the first few weeks of life,

Skin-to-skin between parents and child,

It can strengthen lifelong bonds.

 

It promotes life through connections,

Never underestimate true parental love.

The love of a child can save lives,

Can uplift even when dangling by a thread

Above the turbulent winds

And treacherous seas of fear and doubt.

 

The love of a parent

Can break the lineage of trauma and hurt,

Uproot tainted family trees

In ways that insanity has no way in,

Only culture and traditions can come to full fruition

As they fully sprout.

 

Sweet child,

Don’t ever say that you are never enough.

You came just in time

When the glimmer of hope wants to dim out.

A love of a child

The mind of a child,

Is what the world constantly lacks.

 

Only a childlike faith can enter the gates of heaven,

Surpassing forefathers who grew cold from a dying world

Lies and deceit,

A child will heal those wounds and breathe in life.

 

That power

Sweet child,

No one can ever take it away,

It is highly favored from beyond human comprehension,

Continue to be you

Sweet child.

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The Poetic Word

Would I Still Love You

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BY GLORIA O’KOYE

In faith,

Would the love that  gets publicly

Professed be like

Clanging cymbals when things don’t

Go exactly as they were prayed.

 

Where every detailed fine print of wants

Instead of needs are not fulfilled,

Will the tongue curse more than counting

All the unspoken grace.

 

Would the thank you shape shift

Into why me and hate you.

Would I love you transition into I wish

I never believed in you.

 

Was the spiritual connection

A one way relationship scandal.

In love

If all the materialistic things disappear

Or prenup

Would it survive till death due us part?

 

Would the physical qualities dim down

Like day and night

Be the reason to set sail to foreign lands

To conquer, forgetting what home was

About.

 

In parenthood,

Would the love be tainted if the bloodlines

Was not solely yours?

Would it be unconditional if challenges

Arise?

 

Would gentle or traditional ways help

Resolve conflicts as first words turn

To power struggles as the babies

Grow, would the love not be tested

By time?

 

Would love be the solution

Like how romanticize society made it to be

Like it answers all.

Is Love without action and only fairytale

Filled words truly mean love?

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The Poetic Word

Womb Carriers

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BY GLORIA O’KOYE

Heavenly bodies

As vessels to nurture life.

When giving birth means opening

The gates of Elysium and Hades

In the same sentence,

So many intrusive thoughts continuously

Distract a vulnerable mind from

Concentrating.

 

Weeks of changes,

Misunderstandings from outsiders

Even within close circles.

Exhaustion confused as laziness

Can bring one healthy spiritual beings

Down to their knees in doubt and sorrow.

 

The final phases cause distress,

Except for those that prepared to take on

This psychological test.

Advocating and entrusting that the body

Knowing what’s best.

 

Let no pressure from institutions to write

Off another patient,

For this gift of creation deserves

Premium attention and nothing less!

 

No more allowing negative influences

Dictate a personal journey into these

Sacred moments.

There is only guidance and milestones

But trust that ancestors will guide

Within miracles in teachings.

 

Divine wisdom

In the tree of life that comes after.

Don’t be haste in severing its ties

When hearing the first cries.

Ceremony comes with time,

And allow rest to ease the soul, body and

Mind.

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