Sometimes in the midst of my day to day life, I am overcome with a sadness when I see one of my brothers or sisters struggling with the life they have inherited as an Indigenous person. I wrote this piece on my phone while I was on the bus, watching an Indigenous brother struggle with alcohol. I observed the looks he received by other riders on the bus, of pity and disgust. I listened helplessly as the bus driver asked him to get off the bus, and the shame he felt. I felt my own shame for not being able to stand up for him in that moment, to explain to everyone what led this man to this place of darkness. Instead, I wrote a poem.
He could have been a warrior
He could have been a leader
He could have been a provider
A protector of his people
Instead he sits on corners
Displaced from his land and spirit
His identity was stolen
From those who sought to possess it
She could have been a warrior
She could have been a leader
She could have had a voice
To be valued by her people
Instead she talks to no one
And struggles in her silence
Her voice and power were stolen
By those who sought to possess it
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…well done,
it’s direct/honest – seems to come from a place of soft power yet has an edge…a clear symmetry is established then emphasized …this is all editor-speak to say: what a lovely poem – brings to life the beautiful torment of a common-place moment witnessed by achingly few it would appear…
Thank you for your critique Larry! I love the term “soft power”.
You took a really difficult moment and found hope (and possibility).
Sometimes poets have a hard time conveying moments filled with emotion though words. Not you.
-h
Thankyou my friend