They Tell Me Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

They tell me

They tell me:
"It is called R-Cree."

A French dialogue
Of "Cree."

"That is why it differs
Much, too much, in writing
From the remaining.

And I think:
"What about beginning? "
"What about before the
Metal pots, horses, beads? "
"What about before the stable
And the pens called ‘Reserves? '"

I open French site,
Cannot read,
So, go to English.

Head to toe am questions:
"Could the tongue remain same
When walked on and pressed? "

And feel lost,
Sparks word:
"Colonialists! "

Turn, look back
Cannot find any path
For reverse no track…

The Cree language
As seen now
Is as were buffalo in plain
Slammed, killed, slaughtered
When trapped and hunted
Regardless of single or masses…

Every game turned pieces
Partly saved, rest eaten,
Nothing walks after death!