Indigenous Sex Worker Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Indigenous Sex Worker

Hey Cindy I write words, whatever
Capital
Indigenous, First Nation, everyone
Are great, meaningful meaningless.

Capital is signal
“Attention; Very Large”

The mourners on the ice, glacier is Deep-Base.
Your thin nails and blades scratch the surface.

Oh no; no, I shall not
Don’t take me as a cork, as a hay; No, Do Not.

We witness many Deaths
Underneath there are Waves
There are Lives and Movements
Some micro; some are Large and Great.

Volcanoes and lavas
Hunters and the preys
All swim or slide; or crawl
How can I be blind?

Logical was saying: “Whatever, Was Not an Accident.”

You are gone as have done too many before thee
It is time: “Hey jury,
Cindy was a woman, a mother; and sold sex! ”
Pelvis and vagina don’t answer; see complex.

And Brad was married
Navigate, we have Fix.

Court, police and jury, and the law
None of them is useful; each flaw.

Hey sisters, stolen and friends
Don’t pull hair; be brave don’t cry
These are all on surface of the ice.
Does no good; cure is underneath glacier.