memorial at the vancouver art gallery honouring the 215 indigneous children whose remains were discovered at the kamloops indian residential school in bc (photography by ben nelms, courtesy of cbc)
this soil is drenched in blood that runs across highways of tears and scorched pavements
beneath the trenches of this land hear the whimpers of an ailing mother earth
her children their bodies discovered by dragging knuckles across unmarked mass graves
dousing gasoline on flames and traumas that devour smoke and entire nations like a furnace
piercing shrieks rumble partition walls thundering, between shriving pews
that hold pages of gospel pressed between the blood-stained hands of priests and rosary beads
bear witness to the bones and scattered ashes the silence
there’s nothing your half-mast symbolisms will do to reconcile the wreckage you’ve unleashed on young spirits
i hear them calling hushed whispers asking to come home
if the root of oppression is the loss of memory then is remembrance the threshold to justice?
an open door towards a mosaic of truths a balm for healing
a tender loving softness against these hardened plastered walls built on genocide and theft
oh, little ones you deserve more than empty apologies and hollow promises
you deserve more than candlelit vigils and teddy bears
you deserve to be seen to have your names and stories released from these secret shrines
to finally put to rest everything that has ever hurt you you deserve justice we will keep fighting for you.
dedicated to residential school survivors and their families
‘ghosts from the recent past’ exhibition at the irish museum of modern art in dublin, 2018.
on most nights if you listen close enough you can hear the echoes of the last words of the unarmed whose names reverberate the chants of movements that mattered long before they were cool
i stand on the shoulders of giants and freedom fighters from bds to black lives matter born of legacies before my time: civil rights, decolonization and anti-imperialist struggle
are the reasons we kneel we bow prostrating before god
we the people from ferguson to gaza south africa to kashmir
take up our grief in the streets light the establishment on fire with our fury shout prayers into the night skies wage a holy war against a system that claims to serve and protect
the people over profits has always been profits over people
you say they’re just a few bad apples but how could that be when one is known to spoil the bunch and the rotten fruit kills
don’t be deceived you see george zimmerman, darren wilson, and amy cooper were deliberately placed there
like a perfect game of chess strategic and intricate in design to keep the emmett tills and trayvon martins of this world in their place
i can’t breathe birthed a national slogan in legacy and death
say his name no justice, no peace #ericgarner
left for dead on the scorching pavement in july fo(u)r hours hands up, don’t shoot
say his name no justice, no peace #mikebrown
failing to signal is not a death sentence but apparently sleeping in your home is
say her name no justice, no peace #sandrabland #breonnataylor
mental illness is not a crime and a child’s imagination wielding nothing but creative playtime energy is not a threat
say his name no justice, no peace #abdirahmanabdi #tamirrice
if taking a knee makes you a patriot then what does it make you when you kneel for…
8 minutes and 47 seconds on our necks?
#georgefloyd takes the world by storm all smoke and mirrors, no fire this time
say his name no justice, no peace
more than 2000 still missing and murdered never forget #tinafontaine was only fifteen verdict of yet another white, male assailant: not guilty
say their names no justice, no peace #nomorestolensisters
there is no just-is when the ahed tamimis stand defiant against the unwelcomed presence of idf soldiers at the doorsteps of their homes
brave and steadfast feet planted, palms shaking they strike blows in the face of zionist invasion and resist the plunder of their birthright to exist
i once heard that real justice is what love looks like in public it’s #rachelcorrie rising from the rubble in rafah
her memory bigger than a fleeting moment of solidarity
before the bulldozer that demolished homes and dreams and the barrier between two worlds
the privileged, the american and the underclass the occupied the marginalized
she knew this well before she died, she wrote:
“i have a home. i am allowed to go see the ocean”
spineless political class of the 1% lie to us between their teeth with clenched fists behind their backs
and media moguls spin a narrative where muslim is synonymous with terrorist black with criminal mexican with illegal
our protesting becomes looting and they claim israeli airstrikes are in self defence against hamas rockets
we are the collateral damage that no one cares to fit into sound bites memorializing through hashtags will not bring them back
whiteness reigns supreme claims colour blindness as alibi while bombs rain down on baghdad and chokeholds tighten around the hearts of childless mothers everywhere
on most nights when i shut my eyes tight transported into the belly of the underworld
i imagine an alternate universe where the echoes of the last words of the unarmed reverberate a promise
handwritten from the future sealed and signed by working class poets, artists, thinkers and healers
