Poem: Old Time Communication

I will not talk,
You are over there,
You are over here,
We are here,
Ancestors,
Singing in a room,
Singing near a tree,

We've acted simultaneously with the land,
Trees reaching,
Reaching,
Reaching to the sky,
Bird communication,
Phone lines are leaves,
Branches,
Creak,
The high pitched sound,
A transmission not heard by humans,
Birds petrify our weaknesses into boards between us,
Dream time,
Silly to dissect our lives,
Oppression Olympics,
Under strain the creak of the branches,
Could re-route,
Could diagnose,
Could heal these rifts between all of us,

I manually connect the call on the switchboard,
Wait for each party to connect,
Lost in transmission,
Amongst the disruption of modern communication,
Sighing,
I wait patiently laying sema on the Earth,
In the water,
For the call to be connected the old way,
Manually,
On the switchboard,
Like Grandma LaPointe did for the City of Highland Park,

Grandmothers as Operators,
A very important job,
To not give up in routing and re-routing the call,
To the correct place,
Date,
Time and location,
All set to go,

Breathing,
The trees I observe are an amazing communication system,
Two-spirit,
Asexual,
And pro-choice,
Seedlings tossed into the wind,
Whoever makes it,
Grows and becomes a tree,
Some don't grow,
Those who grow a little,
Then abort,
Seedlings compost slowly,
Making the forest floor,

The foundation,
Trees,
That make it,
Leaves,
Branches,
Reaching,
Make a grand telecommunications system,

Throw that front key forward,
Converse with the caller,
Ah,
Grandma LaPointe,
Listening to me,
Listening to you,
To both parties,
I will talk now,
Will you?