we act like that won't happen to us like our lands haven't too been ravished because we gave that up for the safety of our family. we rejoice at nightmarkets festivals that dot the landscape like stars in the sky but we forget that fireworks quickly turned into fires thunders and when we deny the violence that happens abroad we inch our way further from home. we're american canadian something new but the people who make our clothes but the people who grow our food they look just like us.
deep white curtain dancing green aurora envelope of the earth's life aura without it we turn to dust stars mars
i am a foreigner only, i don't know from which land i am foreign to. here, in a nation called "Canada" i am not treated as a citizen. though, i was born here and qualify by the rules. i am treated as an outsider within my own people, gossip passed in front of me, like a bottle of wine around a young child. contents forbidden. and when i go back 'home' i cannot read the signs in my language, only in English. i need a translator to speak to my elders. and, though i try to find a home in the name of "wanderer" i do not really go wandering. if anything, i am searching, purposefully looking with intent, but the results are not easy and as i dig, and dig, and dig, the deeper i go, & the wider the hole. the wider the hole. the wider the hole.
i'll never give up my history to assimilate into a culture that has forgotten its name a culture whose web of ancestry.com videos tries to sell back family history that was lost because it was more convenient not to have to carry ID. the stories of my people involve telling white people with white tongues how to fill out white papers. a white stamp on our head tax certificate: a white lie. the least wanted: the most documented and white i white my story, 50, 100, 150 years later white letters turn brown in well-whited archives listed addresses in the white pages never white delivered to village homes in red china. still,lost grandfather's secrets murmur beneath white blankets on gold mountain, under a fresh layer of white noise.
This poem was inspired by the ACCESS community television broadcast series Uncovering Gold, which discusses Chinese-Canadian migration through a multimedia format. Part 1 can be found here: http://youtu.be/eP5dakbuXG8.
“the master’s tools will never
the master’s house
but we are not mere tools
so let us not speak of our troubles
inside this castle..}
crumbled under bricks
and lay against crushed clay mortar
as if moths between jars
fit not our crowns
and royal jelly
dissolves our teeth.
never meant was contained to be:
the word,when &
the creator spoke silence
we are (and always halve been) -ness and -ness
and -ness and -ness,
less than a whole
but always together
The beginning of the quote is the title of an essay on anti-racist, pro-queer feminism by Audre Lorde. The essay can be found here: http://lists.econ.utah.edu/pipermail/margins-to-centre/2006-March/000794.html
we don't need a new sidewalk, we need a new road. we need a new road. we need a new road. we need a new road.
made in MS Paint