Anishinaabe Wandering - Performance Ready at Last

I'm dedicating this poem to my cousin Jennifer - our late night conversations about family have helped me fill in the gaps of my history and gave validity to my thoughts feelings.

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I've lived most of my life free of history

The gap is so wide
Some things

May never make sense

Living my life free of history

Means living

Without intention

I’ve lived most of my life free of history

Today in my car

I’m driving back into my history

Driving without fear

Without my history

The realization that my car

Knows the way

Allows me to scan the horizon

Looking for the clues

To my past

A life lived without history

The red dust looming on the horizon

Captures my imagination

With distant memories

Of the red dust

Permeating my skin

Feelings of home

Coming pouring into

My vision

Nearing the city
the knowing car

Stops at the top of a hill
I get out
A cold blast of air greets me

I race around the knowing car

Allowing the culture of coldness

To embrace me

I trust the knowing car

To care for me

With car windows

Pursed to be closed

They keep distant the beauty
Barred by the industry that
Defined my life

Tucked in safe from the cold

The knowing car continues
Arriving at the shores Lake Superior

The lake

That housed and fed my ancestors

I sit for a minute

Contemplating my life without history

As I open the door

Of the knowing car

Proof that my life has history

Comes to me in the

In the split second before

My foot hits the ground

And sinks into the sand

The red dust

Descends from the sky

Covers my body
Seeping deep down through every pore

Down to
The molecular level

I’ve lived my life without history

And now
I am home

The feeling of home and destiny

Surround me

Leaving the knowing car

I wind my way through the tall trees

Making my way to the shore

Stepping carefully

As my

Foot falls create crevices

Marking my way

Back into my history

With vision clear

Turning around

I see the proof in my footsteps

That my life has history

I reach the water line

The cold water laps at my feet

The movement of the water

Pulls the rocks over the sand

Creating the rhythm

Of my history

Carefully watching the water

Leave its mark

I am transfixed and transported
Back to the time of beauty

Before the shipyards
Foghorns
Oil spills
Steel

Alcohol
And unforgiveness
Scar my family

And alcohol

And unforgiveness

Scar me

With my history intact - the Lighthouse disappears
The man-made carved rocks
That mark the steps to the Lighthouse
Explode and violently sink into the water

The destruction follows the path

That was set in motion

With the water pulling the rocks over the sand

The canal falls

The ships crumble

Moving back
Before the glass beads and tobacco tins
Of French fur trappers

I am finally alone

Eagles, bears, turtles, cranes, foxes and martens
Surround

Supported by the wisdom and love
Of family and ancestors

The red dust is released
And forms a connectivity
To the sand and water

On the southern shores
Of Lake Superior