Living the Dream

My Grandmother gave birth, the hard way,
Alone, in the house, on Reserve B. She labored
long and hard, too hard, and Louis,
born with a wine stain on his face, they said,
and he danced when he walked, sideways.
He faltered for five years before he taught the ground
to weave with him.
The nuns said, she did something wrong,
or maybe, she was to give this child back to them
to raise in Godly ways. She refused. She knew the lash
of Residential School nuns. She would have none of it.
She moved out into the bush, took a rabbit, skinned it,
Wrapped it in her baby’s blanket and took it to town.
Said he died. Even took flowers and buried him
In the rain, in the courtyard of the old Church,
That sits behind the old school.
She cried.
“Lord T’underin’ Jeesus” but she cried. Not for show,
either. She buried the child she had been.

Tags: Poems //