Poem: The Origins of Colonial Crisis

Part 1

It starts with King Henry VIII,
Do not press hard on my ribs,
Remove the chains around my lungs,
My heart,
The cloak,
It’s done,
Burn it in the fire,
To cleanse,

The chains,
They left scars,
My heart is in pain,
Unhinge slowly,
Start to breathe,
It is okay to breath,
Please breath, 

Part 2

It’s time to leave the Tower,
I am tired of gazing out into the sea,
The smell of mold from the chambers,
The darkness of the bedroom,
That one window that faces the sea,
I am tired of the royal show,
The royal garb,
The crown jewels,
The performance for the court,
My enemies in the court gossip and sneer,
Meek and timid,
Too afraid to face me directly,
I travel these cold halls in the Tower alone, 

Part 3

What is hidden we will shine light on,
The mold in the bedroom,
The torture of the soul,
525 years yet to face,
Sexual violence,
The mold will die when the light enters,
Free yourself from the self-made – colonially-made prison,

Part 4

You keep talking about,
As if we are still Tudors,
The origin of colonial crisis is in the soul,

Part 5

Land acquisition,
The court and betrayal,
The melding of colonization and patriarchy,
Dominion and torture,
Working class peasantry,
Bread in the court on the royal banquet table,
Spilled on the floor,
We dust it clean,
But the trauma returns,
We shake hands and smile above the oubliette,

Part 6

The dresses are gone,
The exit is clear,
I found the stairs to leave,
Anne Boleyn is peacefully resting now,
The crown is no longer hers, 

I want Anishinaabe Aki,
I am gazing at our land before colonization,
Before the execution,
Accusations of adultery and witchcraft,
My body was not assaulted in the name of Christ,
Our bodies were healed,
We had great love in our communities,
Traditional governance meant traditional matriarchy,
We tend to these decolonial baskets, 

Mishomis is harvesting manoomin,
As healing as this is,
His hands point to where we need to heal in our bodies,
Zaagidewin mishomis,

Part 7

Patriarchy has done incredible global damage,
King Henry VIII’s dominion is the origin of colonial crisis,
Naming it,
The healing,
Our neck,
We heal together,
Every single day,
I touch my neck,
My voice,
Our voice, 

Are our tears ever enough?
Is our love strong enough to decolonize colonial pride?

The King – he is losing power,
The jig is up,

Part 8

I hope to see our Anishinaabe prophecies fulfilled,
Ode – the heart,
It hurts still these days,
We can tend and heal,
Decolonization is painful,

Part 9

Ajijaak dodem,
Echo makers,
Speakers for the community,
We will speak for this healing,
For the voice,
For the ancestors,
For the ones to come,
For the ending of the colonial crisis,