Gatherings VIII Shaking the Belly Releasing the Sacred Clown Theytus Books Ltd. P.O. Box 20040 Penticton, BC V2A 8K3 Gatherings The En'owkin Journal of First North American Peoples Volume VIII - 1997 Copyright 1997 forthe authors. Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Gatherings Annual ISSN 1180-0666 ISBN 0-919441-67-X I.Canadian literature (English)--Indian authors--Periodicals. 2. Canadian literature (English)--20th century--Periodicals.3. American literature--Indian authors--Periodicals. 4. American literature--20th century--Periodicals. I. En'owkin International School of Writing II. En' owkin Centre. PS8235l6G35 C810.8'0897 CS91-031483-7 Editors: Associate Editors: Page Composition: Proof Reading Cover Design: Cover Art: Joyce B. Joe & Susan M. Beaver Greg Young-Ing, Jeannette Armstrong, Graham Angus & William George Marlena Dolan, Regina (Chick) Gabriel Anna Kruger Vivian l..ezard, Lil Schepps Marlena Dolan Bill Cohen Poetry by J.B. Joe has been previously published in West Coast Line Magazine, SFlJ & Only Approved Indians Made in USA, by Jack Forbes has been previously published in Only A1mroved Indians. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1995) Table of Con Trickster \v1At< 1 3 2000 S.F.U. LIBRARY Once More With Love! Ines Hernandez-Avila SERIALS Coyote Makes New Colours Leanne Flett-Kruger He's At It Again Barbara-Helen Hill two tricky guys Vera M. Wabegijig Nanabush and the Mud Ducks Sandra Lynn Lynxleg Napi Jumps Into the TV To Visit "North of Sixty" Sherida Crane 2 4 7 8 12 Feminist/Mother/Woman Poem of 29 Lines Series O1 J.B. Joe when i'm not there Susan M. Beaver Daughter Linda George Don't Burst the Bubble Kimberly Blaeser Untitled Sharon Proulx-Turner Squaw Guide Marie Annharte Baker Memories Two Barbara-Helen Hill 17 18 19 21 22 29 32 Song Please send submissions and letters to Gatherings, c/o En'owkin Centre, 257 Brunswick Street, Penticton, BC, V2A 5P9, Canada. All submissions must be accompanied by a selfaddressed envelope (SASE). Manuscripts without SASE's may not be returned. We will not consider previously published manuscripts or visual art. The publisher acknowledges the support of the Canada Council, Department of Canadian Heritage and the Cultural Services Branch of the Province of British Columbia in the publication of this book. Students of Scat Kimberly Blaeser Are you sure Hank done it this way? Kimberly Blaeser 35 37 Dark Humor Pass It On Mickie Poirier Poem of 29 Lines Series 1 J.B. Joe Colonization 41 42 Identity Only Approved Indians Can Play Made in USA Jack D. Forbes Swing Your Ta Ta 'Round and 'Round Sarah D. Lyons Quail Trail Mickie Poirier That Sounded Like This? Crystal Lee Clark Looking for the injuns Barb Frazer Untitled Anna M. Sewell Discovering the Inner Indian Anna M. Sewell & Crystal Lee Clark Of The Sphere of Politics William George 45 47 85 86 88 89 95 98 50 Children 51 52 53 56 58 Horne Road Signs Poem Marie Annharte Baker A Ball Story-Related to Some of Us by An Elder Okanagan Cowboy Story Teller In the Traditional Way Bill Cohen Twelve Steps To Ward Off Homesickness Kimberly Blaeser BINGO! Sabrina Whane The Hunting Party Stephen Pranteau The Metis Dance of Doom! Eagle Soar, Eagle Soar Trevor Cameron Okanagan Recipe Jeannette Armstrong Poem of 29 Lines Series 2 J.B. Joe Shifting Savage Moods Sherida Crane Elementary Choctology Don L. Birchfield Sunday Chicken and Soft-Spoken Tom Gail Duiker The Seven "C's" of Canadian Colonization Drew Hayden Taylor Last Ditch Religion Marie Annharte Baker 61 63 64 66 67 79 82 The Team of Cheese Bob Bindi Ritchie Long Ago Jacqueline Oker 101 103 Celebration jeff low is a fag Susan M. Beaver Drum Dance Jeffery Mantia Excerpt from Letter Mickie Poirier medicine-n-magic Annette Arkeketa-Rendon banned in canada Susan M. Beaver Art Ken Gervais Day of Sun MariJo Moore Biographies 113 117 118 119 123 124 129 130 Introduction WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF LAUGHTER There are complex categories of indigenous humour. There is a type of humour that only Elders can share. There is a type of humour which belongs in women-talk, man-talk, children-talk, and of course, Trickster-talk. There is Rez humour. Then, there's the humour which celebrates our survival, our triumphs over history. There is humour in clowns. And all this humour is no less than sacred. The A Priori statement upon which this is based is that We are sacred. As Lame Deer put it, "We Sioux spend a lot of time thinking about everyday things which in our mind are mixed up with the spiritual. We see in the world around us many symbols that teach us the meaning of life. We Indians live in a world of symbols and images where the spiritual and the commonplace are one. To us (symbols) are part of nature, part of ourselves, even little insects like ants and grasshoppers. We try to understand them not with the head but with the heart, and we need no more than a hint to give us the meaning," (Lame Deer 1972, 109) as in the Longhouse experience where clowns play a part in ceremony, so we, in our everyday experience, need to accept the clown, play, celebrate and laugh. JBJ Gathering Thoughts My brothers used to come up from the reserve for weekend visits when I lived in Toronto. My partner and I are calm people and so is our home. They took over our house, oh yeah, that gramma oak dinner table shook with laughter - ours and a lot of her own. That table loved the elbows resting on her back, the bellies pressed against her sides. She's a round thing and the laughter whirled around her edges; it kept swirling until the pork chops were bones or somebody choked on a potato (then we laughed harder.) All that laughter born and raised on the reserve came uptown and blew the smog from the city and I felt at home. Then I came to En'owkin. Try keeping a straight face around here. I sense a theme. Before I began sifting through the pages and pages of submissions, I expected to laugh. Yeah, I did. But as I read the stories and poems they reminded me that our masks aren't just spiritually powerful, they're beautiful. As I read them I remembered that our dances aren't just beautiful, they're spiritually powerful. Like all of our contemporary art our stories are never 'one thing.' Among the works you'll find here are very few laughs just for the sake of laughing. In each of the pieces lives a teacher; there is hurt, there is thought, there is culture, colonization, spirituality and on and on. Some are introspective, others gaze on the big broad world but none of them are 'just funny.' This made the task of dividing chosen pieces into thematic sections very difficult. Nearly each piece deserved it's own section. There were works that were hurt when placed in one section - they became limited and restrained. These stories got up and jumped into another part of the book and are quite happy there. There were other works that stood proud on their own but when placed in a section opened up - they grew in interpretation and through context. There were a great number that, like much Native literature, defied, even actively resisted being placed in one category. These stories had no defining characteristic but could encompass colonization, celebration, trickster and more. We did the best we could. The trickster stories however, were alive and very much comfortable in their role as trickster stories. They fit together all cozy, all carrying that trickster medicine either high on their heads or strapped to their backs (butts in some cases) but each carried it in one way or another. They, of course, appear first in the anthology. I sensed the presence of the trickster in the production of this anthology. (Who's idea for a theme was this anyway?) After a few hours of proofreading, every word looks wrong. But here we all are. Ny:weh and a big hug to: Marlena Dolan; the editorial committee - Jeannette Armstrong, William George and Graham Angus; Regina Gabriel; all the authors who sent work in; Anna Sewell- she knows why; and finally to my mentor, advisor, co-editor, sometimes boss and always friend, JB Joe. Welcome to Shaking the Belly - Releasing the Sacred Clown Within. Or, for those of you who are dyslexic (tricky, huh?) like me, welcome to releasing the belly - shaking the sacred clown within. Enjoy! Susan M. Beaver Trickster Ines Hernandez-Avila Once More With Love! He's just a wily old rub-you-the-wrong-way, big pawed, sorry looking yet somehow kind of magnetic Coyote, even at his most pitifullest! The most aggravating kind, hey, that's just the way coyotes are. Now, you can get offended with him if you want. He probably intended it. He just loves it when you fume, you see! In fact, when you don't fume and you throw his foolishness back to him instead, with a big old grin yourself and a flick of your hips and a swing of your hair, you'll make him really mad. But while he's telling you off, yelling that you 're the cause of all his woes, and calling you a goddamned woman, and going on about how no one does things right anymore, least of all some snippity woman, and if he starts commenting on your appearance, and how you're not as pretty or as young as you used to be, and how he's a man, and he has physical needs, and what's your problem anyway, then you know you've got him, if nothing else for a second or two. And all the while he's going off on you, he knows you've got him, too, because he's a real good listener, and while his mouth is flapping away with a mind of its own, he's leaning up against the wall of his own brain checking himself out and kicking himself for falling for his own trick. But he's intrigued, too, because he was expecting a predictable and boring win, and now he's got a fight on his hands, and in that moment you're anything but unattractive. In that moment he wants you, he wants you bad. Leanne Flett-Kruger Leanne Flett-Kruger Coyote Makes New Colours "Coyote shhh! Ifyou don't be quiet I'm going to have to start all over." "Okay, okay, Jeez." I'm gonna tell you a little story, cuz I ran into Coyote just now. I'll tell ya, when I first got here Coyote was laughing so hard, he was rolling around on the ground. I said "Coyote what are you laughing at? ... What's so funny? Hey... wait a minute ... what'd ya do Coyote?" He laughed and laughed until I started laughing too. Next thing I knew we were both rolling around on the ground laughing. My eyes were all tearing up and my nose was all running. Then I remembered ... "Oh ya," and I stopped laughing, "What'd ya do Coyote?" He told me. He said, "Well you ever notice about them flowers? There are a lot of flowers around but mostly just white ones, blue ones, and red ones." Coyote noticed there were no green, or orange, or yellow flowers. "Wow look at those nice yellow flowers!" she said and picked one up. "ya, no yellow or orange or. .. " "I know Coyote, I'm telling the story now okay." So, Coyote was taking a pee on a blue flower bush, and he noticed them flowers turned green. "ya, ever nice that green one." "Shhh." "Well isn't that perty" Coyote said, "I think I'll try that again," So he went around and peed on the red ones and they turned orange. "I didn 't say perty, I said per-it-ty, like the proper way." "He-he-he-he-heee." She held it to her nose and sniffed and sniffed. She just loved the smell of that flower. "Ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaaha." Well that girl, she wandered off with that flower to her nose, talking and laughing to herself, oh but by then Coyote was laughin' a lot harder. That's when I came along. He was laughing and told me that story, then he said to me, "That Wabegijig, she liked that smell so much, I bet her ancestors long time from now will still be smellin them flowers, just like she is." "You're probably right my friend," I said, "You're probably right." That's the story. It's finished now. "Finished? I didn 't even get to say anything. Oh well. That girl she sure likes my smell eh? ... Maybe that little Wabegijig girl, maybe she wants to be my wife eh? ... he-he-he-ha-ha .... Funny two-legged creatures you ones ... I don 't smell your pee.... I did a nice job of them colors though ... especially that yellow eh .... don 't you think? ...... hey, are you still listening? ... hey!... Where's everybody going? ... " "My that's awful nice," he said admiring the orange ones. When he got to a white bush and made a pee, he heard a girl coming along the path. He recognized the voice, cuz she wuz talking and laughing to herself. "It's one of those Wabegijig girls, I think I'll hide behind this here bush," and he did. "Ya I'm ever good at hiding. I just put my tail between my legs like this and... " 2 3 Barbara-Helen Hill He's At it Again It was at Returning the Gift that I heard of him. Oh he was present at many socials and many many classes while I was living in Penticton. But it was this special trip that he really showed himself. He must have been rooming at the same hotel that I did. He got a hold of the switchboard somehow and he fixed it so my phone would ring every half hour from 11 :30 at night till 8:00 am the next day. Seems he wanted to make sure I knew that there was a phone message for me. He then must have gone to Vancouver. I never saw him around but I felt his presence. He must have sat on the runway in Vancouver because my plane that was supposed to leave at 1:00 pm on Monday never got to Kelowna until 3:45 that afternoon. He must have had some chuckles too, because when he got that plane to Kelowna, it was what you call raining cats and dogs. I heard someone say, "when you run for the plane make sure you watch out for the poodles," so I knew. Now I thought that he resided in the west. I figured that when I got home to Ontario and then on to Buffalo, to go back to school, I could leave him in the Okanagan. NOT!! He followed me again. After my return from Penticton and Kelowna and I'm happily back at my studies, I get a letter from the financial aid office. Now this isn't too bad for some people, but this makes the third one since school started, and by now, they are getting a little testy. I go traipsing over to the financial aid office to see what can be done and there he sits on top of the computer. Because he is sitting there eating his lunch the financial aid officer cannot pull up my records. I'm to come back the next day. Okay. Now it is the next day and I'm back at the financial aid office. This form has been sent and re-sent at least three times and it needs to be corrected again. Something about illegal alien on the paperwork. Hmmmm! Now I see him in the comer chuckling and I'm just about in tears. The load is getting too heavy. I finally find out from the office that if I go to south campus and meet with Mr. Soandso then maybe he can straighten things out. Off to south campus and make an appointment with The Man. For next week. Oh well I've been at this for two and a half months now. What's another week. In the meantime I get another letter from a different office where I am registered for a Special Major. More paperwork because the University has not accepted the two English courses that I took at the En'owkin and 4 Barbara-He/en Hill because Canada is a foreign country, my two year certificate is not accepted. What to do? Do the paperwork, write the letters and the proposals all over again and take the required extra courses. Well, now the proposals and letters are done for the special majors and I'm scheduled to take the extra courses in order to graduate. Now what?Yep, the financial aid office wants to talk with me again. Well, this time it's the meeting with The Man and he has written a letter that changes my status from foreign student to NY state resident. That settles it. I'm now down to only owing about $5,000.00 from the $17,000.00 they quoted me in September. Okay, where is he? He's not there. He's gone? I hope so. Has he gone back to Penticton? Nope. He's baa-aa-ck. I make the dean's list in the fall semester. My marks are in the A's and B plus area and spring semester. I'm expecting to graduate with honours. Nope. Guess who is there at the records and registration office waving my transcript around and laughing? He is doing somersaults when the lady tells me that the A's and B pluses from the En'owkin transcript does not count because it is a foreign school. According to them I'm a good student, but not good enough, according to their records. Then too there is the three awards I'm recommended for. Yep he is waving the awards and throwing them up in the air where they land at the feet of someone else. The dean says I haven't been at this school long enough to get the Arts and Letters award for outstanding students. I've only been here for one year. Okay I can live with that. I get the Art award and he is there with a smirk on his face. Oh well, I'm proud of that and he can't take that away from me now. Graduation is over. I got my BA and registered and accepted for the Masters program. I'm on my way. Summer job of writing and researching Iroquois History- just what I wanted and my arm is giving me trouble. Hard to use the computer. Hmmm, could it be? Yep, I go to the school medical office and guess who is sitting at the reception desk? He takes my history and sends me to physical therapy. I played football as a kid, and now it acts up. The arm is still sore, but I won't let him win. I feel him every now and then, jabbing me in the arm, and I just get up and leave the area. The book signing has been going well. Every little bit counts and on Sunday I'm on my way to Rochester, NY, to do a signing and reading at Borders Books. I'm riding the bus and while we are parked at the stop in Batavia, this young man gets out of his girlfriend's car to get on the bus. The bus driver is having a smoke and I'm reading my book. I hear a bang and look up. There is the little blue car and a sign post rattling and kind of lean- s Barbara-Helen Hill ing over. He is really dancing up a storm and hootin' and hollerin' over there near the car. That young girl was trying to drive out of the parking lot and was watching her young man now sitting on the bus when she ran into the (handicapped parking only sign). Now there was perfect example of"love is blind." Yep, I've come to see that He - Coyote travels far and wide. I'm looking around for him but he is no where to be seen. I think he is back in Penticton because I faxed two stories to Theytus in May and apparently they don't have them. He must have taken them and put them in the circular file or on someone's desk. Well, I hope he stays there for a while, I'd like to hear how he acts in someone else's territory. Vera M. Wabegijig two tricky guys raven and coyote swinging around the clubs at night, jigging away, swinging by cafes, doing their dubs of poetry, i pray they didn't change anything ... like they usually do but when they're together, that raven and coyote ... you never know. raven and coyote up to their old tricks on the west coast, boasting and toasting clinking their glasses on new year's day. i fear they're making plans for us humans but, i am convinced there's gotta be a lesson and teaching in all what they do even if it's sure to be a mistake ... which is it likely to be ... i saw raven and coyote one time at a pow wow dancing with crow doing the hop when coyote sneaks in a karate chop with flips and dips, enticing crow making her caw as she was freaking then falling down at coyote's paw and he sure did blush at the sight of crow's skirt up over her head coyote said with a bow, i am honoured crow but let's take it slow. you're just too fast for me! and i think to myself, that sly coyote so smooth, so slick, trying to trick crow ... 'cause we all know he's just too fast for any ofus! cheers to raven and coyote who make us laugh and listen perk your ears to hear their stories, and keep close to mother earth but watch your back for those two tricky guys in their furry suit and ties ... 'cause you never know what is next with those freaky sneaks! 6 7 Sandra Lynn Lynxleg Nanabush and the Mud Ducks This is a story without an end. Every story about Nanabush is like this. The stories connect like paths, roads, and highways. If you lay on a cloud looking down you'd see earth etched with well travelled lines, each a meandering trail in a different direction. Each eventually guided to the other. Nanabush stories are this-an extension of the last. Nanabush's life. Nanabush's story. The legend ofNanabush and the Mud Ducks is like this. It begins at the end of one valley and the start of another. A valley of soft rolling hills and a long meandering river. A valley populated by birch and bushes hidden in the back country far from villages. Nanabush always came back this way from the high country. Wild sweet berries, fresh big fish and young mud ducks filled the valley with plenty to eat. His trip to the high country had been miserable. It had been so cold that his words froze when he spoke. It was a barren place where he had to eat his words, even the ones he didn't like. For the trip home, Nanabush had shoved some words in his pockets. He thought himself clever because he knew he'd reuse these words, so he wouldn't repeat himself (which he was known to do). The frozen words weighed heavy and tired him. The weight made his legs work hard which made his stomach grumble for more fuel to keep walking. His stomach rumbled like rolling thunder and the ice words clanked and collided like tiny light sparks. Nanabush couldn't concentrate while he walked. The battles in his stomach and pockets bothered him. Busy rubbing his stomach and patting his pockets, he didn't see the tree root he tripped on. Ice words flew from his pockets. Flew out and up. Each a whisper as it hit the air but soon the afternoon breeze and sun melted the frozen chunks of words. The clanking and colliding in the pockets had chipped and cracked some words. Pieces of Nanabush's northern chatter and babble bounced off nearby rocks, roots, bark, and branches and took flight towards the sky. Nanabush heard days of conversation battling for the same air time. Each piece of gibberish rose in volume. "Ook a al te no. Balahh. Tweken saw a rabble keek jon ree. Amazonitoid liquid etchem ook ook bandaball sen sojourn hannal notchal. EEECH! EETCH! EEK! EEK! Frantically running around, Nanabush scrambled to collect his jabbering voices, shoving what annoying words he caught in his mouth. Between gulps and grabs, he yelled at them "Shhh!" But the words' volume increased. The noise got so loud it woke the mud ducks sleeping on the river 8 Sandra Lynn Lynxleg bank."What! What!" each cried as it rose to flight. "What! What! What! What!" The leads circled in search. Nanabush quickly ran to hide amongst the willow bushes. "Food," he thought. "Succulent. Mud duck food. My favourite meal." The ducks continued to search for the sounds. Flying into the heat of the conversations, words bounced off their wings and backs hitting each other. The leads noticed and warned the others, "Go! Go! Go! Go!" Nanabush, fearing his meal would leave, jumped from behind the bush. "Neeshtows, I hear your frantic quacking. What's wrong?" "It's Nanabush! It's a trick! Go! Go! Go! Go!" squawked the leads. The fluttering of the wings and the warmth of the afternoon sun had lessened the volume of Nanabush 's many voices. Only dribblings of conversations could be heard. "Wait!" he cried to the fleeing ducks, "I can quiet the voices and make them go away." With that he scooped up the last of the falling words, which were reduced to burps and gurgles, and shoved them in his mouth. Licking his fingers and lips he said, "I came to this valley from the high country. My friends up there said I would become filled with words and song when I visited here. They spoke truth. I am so fulfilled and in awe of this beautiful valley, I am speechless." With that he sat down on a nearby log. The ducks, still confused from the now silenced noise and sudden appearance of Nanabush, cried, "It's a Nanabush trick! Go! Go! Go! Go!" Nanabush continued to sit quietly on the log. Calmly he said, "I do not want to frighten you, my friends. I only want to sit by the water and watch you dip and swim. It's been a long time since I have been with friends." "No! No! You lie. You want to eat us. We know you Nanabush. You are always hungry." "You misunderstand me. I have just eaten and I am no longer hungry. Believe me, I want to be among friends. I miss my friends from the high country. We would laugh and sing. We'd dance all day because there is no night. Life in the high country is a party, and the people are hospitable. For weeks we laughed, sang, danced, and ate. I am so full of food I will not eat until next year. I wouldn't eat my high country friends; otherwise, when I returned nobody would be there to greet me." "He speaks truth," spoke one brave duck. "I've heard high country people live like that." His words were enough to calm the other ducks because ducks believe each other. They believed this so much that they flew back to the river bank to settle down. 9 Sandra Lynn Lynxleg Nanabush smiled to himself and watched them. He began to sing. He stood up and danced and sang. "Aiy. Aiy. Aiyawah. Aiyawah." He banged dry broken branches to his beat and danced close to the river bank but away from the ducks so as not to scare them again. The ducks watched, both cautious and curious, as Nanabush singing and dancing, raised his arms to the sun. Some moved in for a closer look while others swam a little way out on the river to watch. Nanabush called to them. "Join me. I will teach you a new version of the friendship dance that I learned up north." The braver ducks were eager to learn and came closer to Nanabush. The others honked and squawked in protest. "It's safe. Come dance with us. We'll party and celebrate this day Nanabush refused to eat us," cheered the eager ducks. "Don't be frightened. I will protect you from predators," said Nanabush most charmingly. Anxious to dance, the ducks quickly waddled to where Nanabush was dancing. Each duck copied Nanabush's dance. Noticing, Nanabush said, "Oh! My little friends, you are all dancing the same. Dance uniquely." This was difficult to do, since ducks follow each other exactly. Nanabush kept singing and dancing, encouraging the others to join. Finally, all the laughter and gaiety persuaded the others to join. Nanabush, thrilled his plan worked, cheered, "I am happy, my friends. We are together. Now to learn the friendship dance! Close your eyes. You must not look at each other. Your dance is to be unique. Remember all the lands you travelled over. All the different animals and people you saw. Remember what you saw in those lands. Remember the music. Put it in your heart. Dance from there. And when you dance, SING. Sing loud. The louder the better. I want to hear the joy in your stamping and shouting. We are new friends. Let's share in the joy of our friendship!" His words made those ducks dance. They danced thunderously. They danced differently. They danced with abandon. Those ducks danced, heads held high, honking, flapping, smashing into each other, all laughing, but never stopping. Nanabush anxiously watched. He followed behind the ducks and imitated their dancing. Putting down his banging sticks, he sang louder. "Sing. Dance. Keep the sun awake so it does not sleep tonight. Sing as loud and as strange you can. Today is not a day to be a duck, it's a day to be a dancer. Dance and I will choose the best!" The dancing became wild and furious. Each duck trying to out do the 10 Sandra Lynn Lynxleg other. Nanabush encouraged them more. Their rhythm became tumultuous. Waves of honking and quacking. Some quacks were so strange and unusual that one little duck wanted to do the same to win Nanabush's affection. She waited until she heard another. Peeking to catch a glimpse, she saw Nanabush grab a duck by its neck, crack it and throw it behind the log. "Fly! Fly!" she shrieked. "Nanabush tricked us. He's cracking necks as we dance foolishly! Go! Go!" The ducks opened their eyes and saw Nanabush choking another one of their friends. They took flight in fear. Nanabush threw down the duck and chased the squealer. "When I catch you, I will tum your eyes as red as my anger." Just as she was about to take flight, he stamped on her back, pinning her down. The weight of his foot dented her back. Her legs pushed from underneath and became squeezed to her sides pointed backwards. She winced in pam. Nanabush didn't care that he had altered the look of the little duck, which would affect all future mud ducks. He was too furious to care. He had planned a meal of many but only had a few. Impatient to do the little duck in he reached down to crack her neck. When Nanabush went to make the q~ick jerk, she shifted and he got hold of his moccasin and yanked. Falling backwards, he propelled the duck into the air. Angry and disappointed his clever plan had backfired, Nanabush watched the little wounded duck fly to freedom. "You are lucky, my friend. Yes, very lucky." Tired from the day's events, Nanabush went back to the log to clean his catches. Off in the lazy afternoon horizon, Nanabush heard the din of bawling ducks. Too weary to care, he decided he'd eat after a sleep. Constructing an outlandishly large fire, he curled up and nestled his butt close to the roaring flames. So close that this is the beginning of another story. 11 Sherida Crane Sherida Crane Napi jumps into the TV to visit "North of Sixty" Last night Napi dropped by climbed through my living room window with a towel wrapped around his waist water dripped off his body as if he just had a shower I was stretched out on my Indian design love seat watching North of Sixty on my big screen TV Napi came and sat on my legs I said, "get off my legs Napi you have a bony bum and I'm watching North of Sixty," Napi laughed at me Napi pointed up at the drywall ceiling fat black and brown fury spiders danced up there upside down as Napi sang, "Oh my little spiders dance dance for this girl dance til she can't see me make love to her Wa ha Wa ha ho! I said, "Oh Holy grandfather Oh Napi Old One Get out of the way I'm watching North of Sixty." Again Napi pointed up at the furry spiders and now they fell down on my pink rug and spun themselves into snakes 12 snakes twisting slapping on my pink rug as Napi sang, "Oh my little children spit your poison at this lady So I can slither my tongue into her mouth! Wa ha Wa ha ho!" I said, "Oh Holy Grandfather Oh Napi Old One Get out of the way I'm watching North of Sixty you're bugging me Holy Grandfather, this show only comes on once a week!" Napi laughed at me Get up off my legs and pointed his index finger towards the snakes twisting slapping on my pink rug and they were gone Napi sat down beside me on my Indian design love seat and watched North of Sixty on my big screen TV with me On 'North of Sixty' the bootlegger was running for chief I said, "Go on, Holy Grandfather you have many wrinkles on your chest ... go and cover yourself up! I'm trying to watch this show!" Napi got up off my love seat his face was red as fire and he pointed his index finger at my big screen TV and sang, "Oh TV oh North of Sixty help me to make this lady love me 13 Sherida Crane Wa ha Wa ha ho!" Then Napi crawled into my big screen TV he was in North ofSixty's band-office with the people electing a chief Then all hell broke loose as Napi created chaos The bootlegger won then the TV camera was spinning low showing everyone's bum lights flickered on and off in the band-office while Napi jumped around on top of tables then he grabbed Tina, the cop's gun! Bang! Bang! the gun shot off into the air as all the actors scrambled to pretend with fear on their faces Napi then farted in all their faces From the background of the North of Sixty set Napi blew me a kiss and said "you I will never forget!" as I jumped up from Indian design love seat and turned off my TV set. 14 Feminist/Mother/Wo1nan J.B.Joe Poem of 29 Lines Series• 01 went to a meeting the other night over heard these found lines you know someday i 'd like to be a type of stereo i'm effin mad yeah sick and tired of taping by butts to make one whole cigarette in the early early morning so what that's not the worst the worst yet is tying one on while the guy ties up his arm with a piece of rubber and that's not all you're laying there legs apart ready yeah well a guy's gotta do what he's gotta do right what about the times i slept naked on a cold sidewalk dreaming endlessly of cold cuts penthouse roof tops balloons party hats and dressed up balloons grinning from here to maternity well if it gets right down to it i 'd prefer to be at a home game with my own my very own band playing my song yeah yeah a song i wrote it never ends there what we need is a bottle of sperm containing enough for us to live smatter cat for your tongue oh for effsake let's cut the crap if we were at all serious we would march right outta here join the marches down south at the fruit stands no no no i 'm not gay shut up your ignorant mouth witch let's hold these pent up emotions in check i hear there's a pretty good show at the odeon or somewhere wanna go? 17 Susan M. Beaver Linda George when i'm not there Daughter sun lit spotlight through the kitchen window my sister's light brown skin soap suds climbed up her arms a thimble full of clouds on her forehead where she nudged a strand of black hair from her eyes i watched as she gently rubbed my cup in the steaming water The fluttering instructor made her way about the room and chattered and laughed and appeared to have other things on her mind. The instructor-aid, feeling no responsibility, sat there and observed the panels of the room with genuine interest. The token white male came into the room and assumed it was his duty to determine the ease and comfort of all. Some Mothers empower their male children so. Am I angry? Here we all are. None ofus want to be here. An education system that is competitive, labeling and degrading is the reason we have trekked here. First, we need to design an education plan. Since my daughter has reached the high school level and has been registered into a work orientation program rather than the regular program we need to decide the fitting strategy. They followed my series of questions and queries with an adamant statement of "I want her to WANT to come to school." Oh we party here, yes, we do that. That is not what I meant! That was such a lame attempt at closing the gap, reaching the teen, developing a bond. She did not even give warning, just withdrew. What I mean is I want her to WANT to come to school, I want her to want to learn. Then my heart said: "Would you teach her that the reason some communication is so difficult is because we don't understand that we are all individuals? Would you tell her that understanding herself is so necessary before she can understand others? Would you instill in her the drive for knowledge? Would you explain that the horrible sound of the band practice from the other parts of the school ground turns out to be beautiful music? Would you give her appreciation for art and music? I don't know about that opera stuff. Would you tell her how important she is to her family?" When I did focus with my ears again, the words were still coming out of the man at work. The end of the year they go on a week long camping trip and they have a lot to do during the school year. Like a visit to the museum, swimming, and the usual field trip hoop la. We have been out and about the United States and Canada camping. My daughter is too young to enter the Lifeguard Program and she did complete all requirements for this. All ready it's all wrong, I can read her face. I realize that this is to improve social skills and to develop other skills that are still unclear to me. So, how is it we are here? Why can't we just have a twenty four hour teacher? How can I help her with this? Why is this program still here? It is so outdated. I should have stayed in school. Attention, direct looks and questions were so difficult for her to receive. She would not describe her likes and told me the story of seeing her sister for the first time how her smile flowed from her eyes how she had no four year old words she told me the story of seeing her sister for the first time how her smile flowed from her eyes because she had no four year old words to tell her mother how much this sister resembled her picture of Creator as my sister stands in the sunlight streaming words and song and laughter i catch them in my breath press them in a book deep in my chest and when i can't see her when i'm not there when she's back home i pull out this book and flip through the sound of her voice and the sunlight streams again 18 19 Kimberly Blaeser Linda George and dislikes. (I must tell her everyday how much I love her.) Why is her selfesteem so negative? I really shouldn't be such a domineering, mouthy, know-it-all! We, the parents, are having our patience tested, dignity removed, unknowingly on her part, and dreams being cut and on the floor. It is because I don't know how to do all of the above. Well, I do, but I am too busy feeding my own ego and doing the daily survival. Somehow things are out of kilter. I had this huge assumption that parental skills became easier. The parental skills that I did have were of forced behaviour, not ever explaining in detail the imposition of this. Anger was my favourite form of talk. (One way.) I speak in the past tense because I have left that and am now in a mode of search. You notice when I discuss parents, it has turned to "I." The father of this scenario is present and is one of great importance to us all. He does not speak with empathy... I thought my form was bad. His is too cutting and blunt at the same time. Get it? Back to my daughter who is beautiful inside and simply gorgeous outside, she can so easily fool you because she can dress to perfection. She can create a masterpiece with her hair. It appears that all is well. The testing has proven that she cannot read, therefore she can't spell, which also leads to difficulty with comprehension. I believe that she has not come to harm because she is so caring for others and always says so. She posed this statement or question: Why do boys get to do whatever they want and go out and be asked and told okay, but when she wants to go out it becomes a court session and then a panic. It is not fair. Now here is where I lose it. This one, the youngest of four, questions my pompous authority. She challenges and scrutinizes me and is "dismayed" at me. Marriage is not something for her and children are sweet. Nevertheless, they are tiresome and too much of your own time is dedicated to them. I hope that this is not the message that she receives from me! She laughingly questions, how can you look at the same face everyday and do the same things everyday and clean and cook and do laundry? For her, crowds are preferable, seeing different people everyday and no housework. Lately, what I should have said has become routine. Yet time still goes by and words are left dangling, unsaid. So, you see, we do need your help. We, meaning ALL of us. Most of all, I want her to want to learn, to get over the trivial details, such as popularity. I want her to make her own path. 20 Don't Burst the Bubble Outside with his Daddy he runs back the soap solution in his hand because he thinks I am the magic. Only Mommy can throw round rainbows in the air cover the grass with glass bulbs only Mommy can tickle beauty from her lips coax it through the wand until it multiplies and rushes out translucent only Mommy can blow bubbles that tease his chase floating fleeing popping at his touch. He thinks the magic is me. Please don't tell him it's really Fisher Price. 21 --Sharron Proulx-Turner Untitled at school they told her she was mad is what the auntys say it's true she was tired so tired she starts with writing in her sleep that was one cold spring that one eyes open and opening her eyes wider she can see now over to the left and all in rows of smiling faces teachers drill and stuffing in their eyes they all hold sticks or pointers magic wands high above their heads and speak together one by one in unison of pains inside their paunches crooked lies best summer she ever had that old lady comes right on in there and yells out loud french fries french fries french fries for sale and all those smiling faces line up in a row and out they walks into the cold and in goes that old lady and picks up all them magic wands and uses them down at the train station to tum princes into frogs and then she has a feast of feasts near the beginning of the frosts over to the left and all in rows of frogs legs in the thousands dripping grease and keeping time at school they told her she was shooting herself in the foot had a good aim that old lady specially as a girl that was just before the telephones the tree poles heavy and dark against a clear blue sky she's up there near the top of one of them poles 22 Sharron Proulx-Turner and running on the wires uses one of them magic wands from the school to keep her straight in time that was after she writes her lines I will not shoot myself in the foot I will not shoot myself in the foot I will not shoot myself in the foot I will not shoot myself in the foot seven thousand hundred times runs so fast along them wires she converts to light they hear to think she's lightening water's what some of them say rapid water firey cold and voicing like writing on the page that's right about the same time she started to keep her writing that same summer she puts that spoon in that crows nest and all them crows fight over that spoon for years until that raven comes over from the landfill sight eyes the size of jackfish is what the auntys say eleven days in court and even them crows can't cut a deal that blackrobed judge with lemon in his eyes silver spoon potbellied right into his thighs big-mouthed and drooling talking history whitening out lies the old lady gets it all down word for word she knows that short hand in her head word for word and this is what that blackrobed judge says to them crows make sure you ask for what it says here in the book and there's only one answer and you can't peek and hey good luck time's up next that's when them crows turn into hazelnuts right there on the hardwood floor and raven grabs that silver spoon blackrobed judge and all good thing the old lady gets it all down before she heads out in her car 23 Sharron Proulx-Turner and drives right up and over that landfill sight eyes the size of jackfish I am many things says the old lady but I am no carpenter I can yacht with the best of them they say them folks in whitetown made a tv-type-movie script just after the old lady dies in her sleep at the tv-type-movie funeral there's a teacher from her school who speaks from over to the left and all in rows and says her favourite food was french fries and there's something about her writing lazy and arrogant makes it like a rich french dessert undeniably excellent but affordable and familiar to few the auntys laugh and laugh and eat popcorn with extra butter clinging to their salt them folks can't read worth beans is what the auntys say they got it right there on the kitchen table all framed with the old lady smiling tight her false teeth right there beside her in a cup she makes that cup at the senior high paints words on it too uses the extra paint left over from her car big red hen red words are jewels is what she writes on that cup words are jewels grains of rice to kneel on depending on the view and there she is with her hair just long enough to fit a sprig of a tail and hair pins all around haphazard gardening over by that landfill sight and the sun pats her on the back warms words out from her sprig of a tail something about them kind of words like jawbreakers too hard to bite and chew just slow just suck so at the layers feel each one circle after circle says the sun that hot round day way back before the tv was even a pimple on a newborns butt 24 Sharron Proulx-Turner they say that old lady used to spend lots of time out from time and trailing waiting praying for a miracle and out pops this big red hen body the size of a car one of them volkswagens except with chicken scratches on the road and in hops the old lady right there in the middle of the road ties a scarf around her hair and gets behind the wheel the whole time up front in the trunk of that car them eggs whisper she is magic she is ready to return remember she is magic she is ready to return good shocks on that car burden of the past then right there on the side of the road mother superior blackrobed and frostbite on her nose selling hail the size of golf balls that big hen never could resist a good deal warm red wise besides them hailstones got a piece of paper froze inside tells the future tells no lies that big red hen pecks the biggest ball the biggest slip of paper takes them four days just to suck that water off four more days to let that paper dry and on that paper something rare and precious so much loneliness born out of love it is said that abuse by a mother is of the worst kind and especially it is said that abuse of a mother toward her daughter is the most damaging and the old lady stops that car says oh we need our past we need to remember just look back feel smell breathe see them all thank them for their medicines thank them for their miracles how to enjoy with the understanding of pain the outpour of intimacy of love safe and warm and free to breathe and underneath the seat of that car little people dulled and shy belittled and afraid alone gone to church gone home gone away bye bye every spring them crows show up right downtown in whitetown each year there's more on account of the kids and grandkids 25 Sharron Proulx-Turner them folks in whitetown can't tell them crows apart can't understand crow talk either they don't know them crows take care of their own this is years after all them crows tum into hazelnuts right there on the hardwood floor and raven grabs that silver spoon that's the year they call on the old lady to help them out the year the giant butterfly shows up with them crows it's just about late afternoon and picking up the sun one of them dark brown butterflies with the yellow-winged tips bright like the sun and them crows all singing hollow doo doo I'm a butt hollow doo