Poem: River Ancestors Crossing

Our ancestors crossed this river,
As a little girl you ran along the path that lead back to your ancestors,

The traffic went north and south,
But you were connecting amongst it,

There was a sound,
A sound in the soul,

The point led to a direction.
That led to a meeting,

The heart was divided among treaty territories,

Policies divide the soul,
Identity on the cross,
Nail in arm,
Nail in foot,

You are tied to this,
This persecution,

Light on,
Light off,

Sorrowful tunes,
Up and down the corridor,
The Woodward Corridor,
The Grand River Corridor,

Chords abound,
The notes fall on trees,
Laying tobacco down,

The heart is not a distribution,
Not an industrial production,
Not a futile design,
Not an assembling of a broken-ness,
But a manufacturing of constellations,

The heart cannot be distributed,