the throb of mournful drumming;
the price of sweet grass spent:
i waled a lifetime to that rhythm,
never knowing what it meant.
i sat outside the circle;
i turned and walked away,
then signed my name and threw my pennies
to give lip service for a better day.
but today, the drumming stops me.
the smoke, it stings my eyes.
orange wildflowers paint their colours
like glowing nights across the skies.
white teeth sink into burning flesh,
other-eyes label it "red";
the black-haired girl hides from sisters
at the foot of brother's bed.
we've been glaring through glass bottles;
passing judgment in jerry cans;
throwing looks and trailer hitches;
wringing empty hands.
hatred spills like toxic waste
into this river we cry:
there's only one blood at its source;
though you have swum more deeply than i.
we find no key to change the past,
but the future's all unlocked.
we'll beat our drums and join the circle,
for "us" is all we've got.
$215 from the sale of this piece will benefit the National Centre for Truth & Reconciliation.
Acrylic, gesso & glass
Matte clear shield with UV protection.
Gloss polymer varnish with UV protection.