The Mi'kmaq Anthology

by Lesley Choyce

  skilled hands of his wife.

  His eyes looked tired, his face worn as he turned to see

  yet another man standing there.

  I have heard the whispering of the wind calling out to me

  said Eagle Feather.

  It was I who called, answered the Wise One, come and listen

  to what I must say.

  For when the sun goes behind the mountain, I will

  no longer be.

  This land has been good to us since time began, it has

  given us food to eat and medicine to heal.

  It gave us shelter from the heat of the sun, it kept us

  warm when the winds grew cold.

  It has given some of its creatures to make use of what

  we can.

  Now my body will join the earth, my spirit will go

  back to the land.

  Standing against the wind, Eagle Feather said to the

  Wise One:

  Though you are old your will is strong, your eyes have

  not yet failed you.

  Your heart beats to the sound of the drums, your feet dance

  to the stories that are told.

  A’tukititijik

  You could see the glint in their aging eyes, shining

  like stars of the night.

  You could feel the warmth of their smiling faces, as they

  sat circled around the fire light.

  Once again my thoughts drifted to the days of my father’s

  ancestors, for a brief moment I heard the sounds of

  beating drums.

  I turned towards the light of the fire. I saw shadows

  of the past dancing among the elders of the present.

  In silence I listened to the start of A’tukititijik meaning

  a group of people telling stories or legends of the past.

  You could feel the excitement as the sounds of laughter

  break through the crisp night air.

  Though I could not relate to their distinctive language

  I sat and watched the expressions on their faces, as they

  spoke of hardship and changes they had encountered.

  I dared not ask of what was being said, for it was once

  said: That the translation loses its meaning, the

  Native humour of the stories was somehow lost.

  As I sat and uttered not a word my spirit became saddened

  by my thoughts.

  How could such beauty as the Mi’kmaq language and the

  richness of our culture be so easily forgotten.

  Will we, as elders to our children and their children

  be able to sit around the fire light.

  Telling stories and legends of the past in the cool

  stillness of the night.

  Will A’tukititijik live on to the future or will it just

  slowly fade with the elders of today.

  Lost Identity

  Here I stood in the still of night with moccasins on my feet, from all around came voices singing and chanting stories of long ago. Slowly I walked towards the field in my moccasin feet, as I came closer I could see the elders of my ancestors. Silently I stood and listened then a sense of peace came over me from the top of my head to the bottom of my moccasin feet.

  A gentle man he was, his voice was like that of a soft breeze, “What is it that you seek, my child?” I looked at him not knowing what it was that I should say. “Old man of my ancestors, I wish to sit and listen to your stories of yesterday. I wish to know of the old Mi’kmaq ways.” He turned then walked towards the others and spoke to them in a language I could not understand.

  I could feel my heart beating but soon realized that it was not my heart but the beating of the drums. The old man returned to where I stood; sitting on the ground he gestured for me to do the same. With tears in his eyes he began to speak. “It is not possible my child to join our songs and chants that speak of life.” I looked deep into his eyes wanting to ask why, yet the words would not pass my lips.

  The old man held my hand onto his and began with this, “You say that you are of Native blood yet you cannot speak the language of your fathers. You do not know of how we lived, you do not understand the way of the earth or what it can do for you.” I held my head high and said that I am of Indian descent — why do you say that I am not. He showed no bitterness for my angry words, only kindness as he began to speak once again. “My child, listen and listen well; if you can do what I ask then and only then can you sit and join our songs and chants.

  Can you tell what the wind is saying to us? Can you see the animals hiding in the forest? Have you listened to the running water, what did it say of the creatures that live within. Can you say which way the deer have gone? When you look upon the stars can you find your way in the dark of night? Can you say what kind of day we shall have, will it be dry or will the rains come? What will the winter months hold for us, will we have to gather more food and fuel for those long cold days ahead? Can you put your ear to the ground and say what you have heard? With that he stood and helped me to my feet, “Go back to where you have come, my child and remember what I had said.”

  My heart was heavy I felt so sad, for I could not do any of what he had asked.

  The sound of the drums began to fade as I walked towards from where I came.

  Tears filled my eyes as I bent my head and realized that I no longer wore moccasins on my feet.

  The Cradle

  Push me gentle from side to side,

  Feel the sway and feel the glide.

  Even if you’re not too tired,

  Come along just for the ride.

  A word of warning is what you’ll see.

  But you don’t have to be afraid of me.

  Don’t get rough and push too hard,

  Or you’ll be getting a Get Well card.

  And if it’s me that you don’t care,

  Try my cousin the Rocking Chair.

  The Ancient One

  Dampness lingers as the summer

  rains come to a halt.

  The forest behind my home takes on

  a menacing appearance today.

  Sensing its coldness covering my body

  I struggle to look away.

  Feeling trapped in my tracks, I follow

  its haunting cry of the wild.

  I tremble so from head to toe not

  knowing who or what is calling me.

  Deeper and deeper into its darkening

  grasp I walk aimlessly.

  The rays of the sun began to seep

  through the trees creating a mist.

  After what seemed an endless trek

  I finally come upon a clearing.

  The Ancient One beckons for me

  to sit. I speak not a word.

  My child, you still hold much

  fear within your heart as you

  Continue your Journey of Hope

  seeking your true spirit.

  Listen with your heart as you

  hear the drums of our fathers.

  See with your heart the good that

  surrounds you each day.

  Banish all hidden anger that

  is buried deep within you

  For the anger you hold destroys

  the understanding and love of Nature.

  Fear, my child, is your own enemy.

  Let it go and be free.

  With that said, he faded

  with the mists of the forest

  Leaving me with the strength and

  courage I so needed to continue

  My journey through life in search

  of my Mi’kmaq Culture.

  The Inner Spirit

  When I was but a young girl I

  looked at life with little meaning.

  The hopes and dreams of my roots

  were hidden by elements of abuse.

  There was no comfort or warmth for

  my nativeness to grow and flourish,

&
nbsp; For the harshness of cold words and

  icy stares hid the beauty within.

  My struggle to survive became unbearable

  with each day of my developing years.

  The ray of new hope has brightened

  my gloomy hours of untold despair.

  Now I stand tall and proud as it

  gives true meaning to empty dreams.

  Its tears have quenched my thirst

  for knowledge of who I am.

  It speaks words to enlighten my quest

  to bring forth my being with strength.

  The warmth of its smile has filled me

  with anticipation to cry out

  I too belong.

  My Spirit is my Own

  When a fox finds itself in a trap, it

  fights to be free.

  The loss of a limb is the price it pays

  to gain its freedom.

  Though it may have lost a part of its

  self it strives to live.

  And so is my way as a Native, feeling

  trapped in a world I can’t understand.

  I too must struggle no matter the cost,

  my Native language is the price I paid.

  So I too must strive to survive;

  This may be no longer mine to speak,

  but for me not all is lost.

  To me my spirit is my own, to be given

  back to the land.

  It shall be within the soil, where

  once my ancestors walked.

  It will live on the mountains high,

  to the valleys below.

  It shall fly like an eagle overhead

  within the lakes, rivers and streams

  my spirit shall lie.

  Yes, you may have taken the land, you

  may have taken my language too,

  But when I no longer exist, one thing

  sure is for certain,

  My spirit is my own and this you will

  never take from me.

  The Spirit Cries

  Spirits of my ancestors,

  hear my Mi’kmaq spirit cry,

  For I still carry great pain

  from deep within my heart.

  My lips still taste the

  bitterness of silent tears

  As I cringe from hate

  muttered by others,

  And my spirit cries out

  wanting to be free.

  Spirits of my ancestors,

  hear my Mi’kmaq spirit cry,

  In hopes of healing the

  wounds of broken dreams.

  To see not only the

  ugliness that surrounds me,

  But also to feel the

  beauty of life.

  Let me speak not in shame

  but with dignity,

  For my spirit cries out

  longing to be free.

  Images

  I’ve seen images of unsmiling

  faces staring back at me

  From every newspaper and

  channel of my t.v.

  Pictures that held terror

  instead of laughter.

  It captured the struggles of

  one’s soul and confusion of another.

  It’s as if they had been caught

  in a giant whirlwind,

  Uprooted and tossed hopelessly

  through time of uncertainty.

  Images so troubled by today’s

  need to conquer all.

  Images of desperation by the

  innocents seeking shelter.

  The world sees these morbid

  haunting scenes each day,

  Where victims of brutality

  lay lifeless on the ground.

  A city once filled with life stands

  silent ’neath the crumbling walls.

  No one hears their cries as the

  devastation of war continues.

  When will it end…

  When will the senseless destruction

  of human life come to a halt?

  These are the images of war.

  Kiwnik’s Companion

  Many, many moons ago, before the sun was shown, the land was in greyness which gave light to the day. All the creatures of the forest didn’t seem to mind it; all except one, the otter. Kiwnik was rather timid at times. He’d hide every time another animal would come close to him. Yet when the moon was high in the sky, you’d find otter scurrying about the bushes playing hide and seek. There were times he’d climb hills only to come sliding down again. The night creatures watched intently and laughed at his antics.

  One day the Great Spirit heard about the otter’s plight of the night and decided to see for Himself. Sure enough, on the next full moon, there was Kiwnik playfully swimming about the river. His head bobbed up and down while swimming on his back. He seemed to be tossing up little rocks and catching them. When he had stopped doing that he would begin to run up a hill, then come sliding down the muddied path only to end with a big splash in the water. This went on for some time.

  The Great Spirit laughed and laughed. “I shall visit Kiwnik in a few days,” he said before going on his way. Kiwnik, not knowing that anyone was watching, continued to play throughout the night.

  Suddenly, the otter stopped. Not a muscle stirred. His ears perked up to the sound of the day creatures. It was the chatter of the birds and other small creatures of the woods that caused Kiwnik to run in fear as he hurried to the safety of his home. Soon the forest was full of noise as the day creatures roamed about searching for food. By then it wasn’t long before Kiwnik was fast asleep beneath the bushes of the river bank.

  One day the Great Spirit looked down on the world of the animals. His eyes caught a glimpse of a lone figure trembling beneath the bushes. The Great Spirit’s soft voice of the wind was heard. “Kiwnik, Kiwnik. What frightens you so?” asked the Great Spirit. There was no answer so he asked again, “Kiwnik, Kiwnik. What frightens you so?” Still, there was no answer. The Great Spirit decided to return in a while. Perhaps the young otter would speak then.

  For a long time, the Great Spirit came and tried to talk to the otter, and each time Kiwnik would not answer. This worried the Great Spirit, for one of his creatures was at times unhappy, and this shouldn’t be. “I shall see him on the next full moon,” thought the Great Spirit.

  The night sky was filled with twinkling lights as the moon rose over the tree tops. It seems more beautiful and brighter this night, thought Kiwnik. The otter went about his business of play, taking little notice of the breeze that seemed to hang around. Just as he was about to hurry up the slope of a small hill, Kiwnik heard the voice of the Great Spirit. “Kiwnik, Kiwnik. What frightens you so,” said the voice. The otter stood still, unable to run and hide for he did not know where the Great Spirit was. Kiwnik’s body began to shake. He grew weak with fright. He could not answer. He had fainted again as he had the other times the Great Spirit called.

  The Great Spirit found Kiwnik under a small tree. Gently he lifted the limp creature and carried it to his World Above the Animal World. Here he placed the otter near the hearth of fire. Slowly the otter stopped trembling for he felt great warmth cover his body. Kiwnik began to open his eyes but closed them quickly because the brightness of the great light was bothering him. The Great Spirit noticed that the light was too much for the young one. Gradually he turned it down lower and lower. He stopped when he noticed that Kiwnik could open his eyes without any problem.

  “Why have you taken me away from my home?” demanded Kiwnik. “Hush, Little One,” replied the Great Spirit. With that, the otter did not say another word. “I have watched you many times frolicking under the glare of the moon.”

  Kiwnik began to shiver for he thought that this had caused the Great Spirit to become angry. But he still did not speak for the eyes of the Great Spirit watched him gravely. “Little One, you have brought laughter to the night creatures; this I have seen.” Kiwnik’s thoughts raced through his mind. “Oh, what have I d
one to make the Great Spirit upset?” thought the otter.

  “Kiwnik, you are not a creature of the night. You, my friend, are a creature of the day,” said the Great Spirit, rather puzzled. He continued: “Tell me, Kiwnik, why do you seek the light of the moon? And why do you lie in fear of those who live by day?”

  Kiwnik looked at the Great Spirit for a time not knowing whether to answer. “Do not be afraid, Little One. Speak.”

  “Great Spirit, I did not mean to anger you,” began Kiwnik. The Great Spirit looked at the otter in amusement. Otter’s eyes would not meet the glare of the Great Spirit as he began to speak again. “In the world of day, I am alone for my companion of the moon is not with me. I cannot seek out food or play about when there is no one to warn me of coming dangers. This is also why I hide from the day creatures,” said otter.

  The Great Spirit spoke up. “But Kiwnik, are you not alone at night?” The otter answered, “At times when the moon has not awakened, I am alone, and I will not venture out in the darkness.”

  “Oh, I see,” said the Great Spirit. “Tell me, Little One. What is this companion you speak of?” asked the Great Spirit.

  “Com-pan-ion,” said the once again frightened otter. Kiwnik then looked up at the Great Spirit and began to stumble over his words. His voice cracked in a high pitch. “He’s o-only se-en by the light - of the m-moon.” Then the Great Spirit interrupted by saying “Only by the light of the moon, you say. Well, what does this companion look like?”

  Kiwnik shivered even more as he answered. “I don’t know; it is slender like me. It sometimes walks ahead of me and sometimes it stays behind or right next to me. It never speaks so I could not ask where it lives.” While the otter talked, the Great Spirit slowly turned the light of the fire up a little bit at a time. Suddenly, Kiwnik jumped back in shock pointing at the Great Spirit, speechless. “What is it, Kiwnik?” asked the Great Spirit, as calm as ever. Kiwnik, with a stunned gaze on his face finally blurted out, “There. Behind you is my companion. But … but it doesn’t look like me. It … it looks more like you,” said the excited otter.

  The Great Spirit turned to see what caused the otter to act so strangely, thinking that perhaps he would finally meet the companion of the otter. Then like a great burst of thunder, the Great Spirit laughed. Kiwnik became somewhat angry because the Great Spirit was laughing at his companion. At last, the Great Spirit looked back at the otter, and with all his might, tried to speak with a straight face.