With Hearts Like Thunder
With Hearts Like Thunder
Remember you once knew two Indians?
One was of Maori and the other a First Nations?
Were they both ruined when it came to women?
Long-term lookers then a bunch of in-betweeners?
And do you remember they each opened a restaurant?
One bought a pizzeria in the town on the Atlantic Ocean.
Who knows about the other on his island in the South Pacific…
And both in their lives they were living and running.
And both in their ways were building and planning.
The Canadian called you “Hill.”
The New Zealander said “ya Muppet!”
The Mi’kmaq Lennox laughing, “you got it kid.”
The Maori Northlander never letting on one bit
that to both these guys I was that ray of sunshine.
No – better a fire ball bursting in the sky!
And I’d surprise each with my wisdom and professionalism.
The First Nations meeting me once in my pencil skirt office outfit.
And maybe the ex-Brit adoring my resilience and accomplishments?
Remember you once knew two Indians?
You’re of Russian and French Canadian heritage.
Could you ever be their sister, not Lover?
You wanted them to be Guide and Keeper, not Saviour.
You knew each would return to their Land
Take off where the father’s hand
last wove the basket leaving a strand
and picking up a thread to continue tradition.
Proud men, poets/music-men walking strong in the footsteps of their Dads.
Fierce Chief Sark and that Islander resourceful Oyster Businessman.
What does a baby sister do when her big brothers ride on beyond?
But whip off her training wheels and ride fast, and far and strong!
And when she falls there is none else so far
than a sister Aboriginal – you know who you are.
“Fuck these guys,” is what she’d say!
“Follow your own path, you’re an amazing woman, babe!”
And if I recall – I grew up on Native magic and myths:
Wore deerskin bracelets my Aunt made from my uncle’s hunting expeditions.
Little 7-year old feet in beautiful deerskin and white fur moccasins.
In addition to Grandma’s brass plate tattooed as a ship
Was Grandpa’s West Coast tree disc painted with the Haida eagle legend.
And you watched for messages in the fire at the cottage
with a mom whose dominion long ago was usurped by a divorce.
Who worked in Aboriginal medical health for decades and more.
Had famous indigenous art around our low-income home.
And now you know why you linger
upon wild men with hearts like thunder
that beat loud and bold but not for you
but reverberate your soul loud enough so awakened –
you’ll come to.
SH 2016
ART: Brascoupe