I run through heart of the land, muddy, brackish, moving birch canoes, from dawn to dusk.
i hang a red dress
its folds billowing spiritual dance
along grainy shores
forked by roots of ancient trees
i burn sagebrush
count the years passing
of voices forever silenced
stolen sisters, missing daughters-
only heartbeat of river remains-
I crawl with broken bones, washing away blood, footprints, sun-scarred skin under dark moon.
Each year, dozens of Canadian Aboriginal women are murdered or disappear never to be seen again. Some end up in a river that runs through the heart of Winnipeg.
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics: The River, hosted by guest host, Paul Dear. And Happy World Poetry Day! Thanks for the visit ~