hear wind through trees
gentle symphony of pressure, friction
trees tell history of all they see
what a night to watch the stars
raven calls. a friend is near.
uncooked first bannok on the lawn
cooked edges with me and tea
what a night to share the feast
waddle left right left
stripes clear in porch light
'this for me?' feel her ask
about bannok on the grass
yes, friend, fill up.
only hear her munch
trees' whispers set aside
seldom a gift in these days
to be the feasted
skunk getting full
a thank-you with winking
toddle waddle down the good red road
walk a mile in her moccasins.
Author's Note:
This poem was also inspired by a real event, this time on my own front lawn. I had made my first ever bannok, and I had rolled it too thick to fully cook. I put any cooked parts in a bowl with jam, made a cup of tea, and went onto the porch to stargaze. I'm not sure how long it was I sat before my visitor came to sniff the uncooked bannok I had thrown on the grass as an offering.
Skunks are frequent visitors in suburbia of the Dish With One Spoon territory where I grew up, however they are quite skittish and untrusting (as they should be). However, I remember feeling a burst of what I can only describe as energy and love when this little female skunk waddled onto my lawn. She paused before she ate and looked up at me, almost asking permission. I think I said out loud, "Go ahead, baby. It's for you." She then ate with me for nearly twenty minutes before she had her tummy full.
I've had other experiences with Skunk, from one passing happily under my feet on the same porch to having a mother skunk make her den behind my garage. I try to bury any dead skunks I see to let them rest, preferably in the safety of my garden. I have always been taught that Skunk carries the teaching of Respect, alongside Buffalo, so I feel I cannot leave her disrespected on the roads. She is one that you will regret disrespecting, and she's quick with her tail- or with stinking up your car should you hit her. I think that Skunk feels this teaching inside me, from my mother- as I mentioned in the poem Abenaki Silt Dance. I have oftentimes been trusted by Skunk, and I thank her for these beautiful moments of spirit.
Note: The image with this poem is a drawing by me- I plan on making stickers to go in my shop.
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PoetryTRIGGER WARNING: Includes themes of genocide, Residential Schools, assault, violence, addiction, oppression, and intergenerational trauma. Mixed form poetry about being a mixed queer kid on Turtle Island. Note: Cover image is mine, I beaded the flor...
