Revisited - Anishinaabe Wandering

I've been busy rewriting - adding details and filling in the difficult truth of my poetry. this is another version of my poem - Anishinaabe Wandering

I've lived most of my life free of history

The gap is so wide
Some things

May never make sense

Today in my car

I’m driving back into my history

Driving without fear

The realization that my car

Knows the way

Allows me to scan the horizon

Looking for the clues

To my past

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

A cold blast of air greets me
I get out
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 Lake Superior

The lake

that housed and fed my ancestors

Stepping out

the moment my foot hits the ground

and sinks into the sand

The red dust

Descends covers my body
Seeping deep down through every pore

Or my skin

Seeping deep
Down to
The molecular level

I am home

The feeling of home and destiny

Surround me

Winding my way through the tall trees

Making my way to the shore

Stepping carefully

Foot falls create crevices

Marking my way

Back into my history

With vision clear

I reach the water line

Water lapping at my feet

The movement pulls

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
and alcohol
scar my family

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
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