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Poetry Page

Father,
fear closes down my heart
a certain kind of fear.
Ask me to write about something else.
Not the disappointment
of his nakedness on the couch,
passed out
from drinking in the summer heat.
Forgetting her had a daughter
coming to visit.
Forgatting he had a daughter,
ringing the buzzer outside,
looking at her reflection in the window,
her porcupine quill earrings,
forgetting he had a daughter
whose colour of skin and face he gave,
who is waiting with soft dark eyes
for the father who never was,
who never could be.

Mahara Allbrett

1979
The stench. Summer through a grimy window,
sweaty, tear-stained sheets gathered at my ankles.
Stagnant air clogs my nostrils and I lay in a ball
dreaming of demons, hoping for rainbows, praying to god.
Even in dreamtime I pray that the darkness
will not offer me morning light.

Parts of my memory so clear. At times he’d light
a candle. I’d watch that frenzied dance in darkness
and wish reality could blur and fade, a reflection in the window.
Don’t touch me! How I wish I could break the hold on my ankles
and kick him with my foot, hit him with the ball
of my fist. It’s been a long time since I had faith in god.

Don’t tell me life is fair. If it is, then god
damn him! Piercing fear as his rough fingers grip my ankles
and my stomach tightens into a gnawing, nerve-ridden ball.
I wish I could shove him right through that fucking window
so he could be swallowed by that searing light
and I could be numb and cold (safe) in darkness.

I never was the one to see the darkness
in someone’s soul, but you suck the light,
the very life from within me. Please god,
if you’re there, please...A noise at the window!
Snap! Reality drags me back by my ankles
to feel the massive invasion, the soft but solid ball

That slaps against my skin. Last week, a ball
rolled past my feet, and as I bent to capture it, my bruised ankles
brought that searing reality back to me. No open window -
no easy out to the question, “Jamie can’t, she’s too light.
Why won’t you play teeter-totter with us?” Oh god
How can I tell them that a night in the darkness

left my eight-year-old body too sore for wooden planks? Darkness
engulfs me now. Is it over? I uncurl myself from that ball
and pull myself up to my reflection in the darkened window.
My body wracked with cold trembles, I learned long ago that light
will not bring warmth to a dying heart. What kind of god
would let this happen? Gently I massage my ankles

until I imagine it all away. The ball of fear in my stomach,
my bruised ankles, disappear with the light, swallowed in darkness.
I lean on my cool window and wonder whatever happened to god.

Anonymous

She lifts up her sleeve.
Her arm is blue.
I’ve never seen such massive bruising before.
My grandmother taught such respect
for women.
The boy that is hitting her is the same one who
was left behind when his parents were using
the bottle
to get away from what happened to us
and she is the girl
that used to wipe the blood off her
mother’s face
and dress her wounds when
her father wasn’t raping her
and he is the one
being sexually humiliated in residential school
by the nun
and we are the ones
that know
the circle alone holds the strength
to heal
along with the love
of the Grandmothers and Grandfathers
in our hearts.
Mahara Allbrett

PRAYER TO THE GRANDMOTHERS
GREAT GRANDMOTHER
I LAY MY BODY ACROSS THE GENERATIONS
TAKE THIS PAIN,
OPPRESSION CUT THE CORDS BETWEEN US,
BUT I DON’T WANT TO LET GO,
I DON’T WANT TO LET GO,
I WANT TO BE SURROUNDED BY YOU OLD WOMEN
I WANT TO BE SURROUNDED BY YOU
I FEEL LIKE A LINK & I FEEL BROKEN
I DON’T WANT TO BE DISCONNECTED FROM YOU,
PLEASE BE WITH ME
I FEEL SO ALONE,
MY HEART IS BREAKING,
YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BREAKING OF A WOMAN’S HEART
HEAL ME
PLEASE, PLEASE HEAL ME.

Mahara Allbrett