aniki nîso nâpêwak kâ-pîkiskwêcik ~ Two Men Talking

ohci Mowat Edgar McIlwraith êkwa Dr. Harold Cardinal

When I think of how

you might have sounded

had you talked, I imagine

the persistent thrum of peace.

nipêhtên ê-takahkihtâkwahk

pêyâhtakêyimowin.

If I listen carefully

I hear buds opening

in May, as you parley

in harmony.

nipêhtên ê-takahkihtâkwahk

pêyâhtakêyimowin.

If I lean into the rhythms

of nêhiyawêwin

as you converse on a summer

morning the aspens clap

their shy applause.

nipêhtên ê-takahkihtâkwahk

pêyâhtakêyimowin.

When I consider your debate

I hear water trickling

over pebbles set expressly

for the timbre of soft talk.

nipêhtên ê-takahkihtâkwahk

pêyâhtakêyimowin.

As I catch the cadence

of Plains Cree speech

kisiskâciwani-sîpiy

flows swiftly but peacefully.

kisiskâciwan mâka ê-cîwêk êkwa ê-pêhtamân

ê-takahkihtâkwahk

pêyâhtakêyimowin.

When I think I recognize

your thoughts on this fall day

I hear a pause:

you both wait patiently

for understanding, you hold

your words carefully, offering

them only when you’re sure

they’re a gift.

kiyawâw kipîkiskwâtitonâwâw

mâka ê-manâcimitoyêk

êkwa kinisitohtâtonâwâw.

kiyawâw nîso nâpêwak

kâ-pîkiskwêyêk.

Two snowflakes, suspended on air,

tarrying, not wanting

the conversation to end.

nîso pîwâkonisak

ê-nôhtê-âhkami-pîkiskwâtitoyêk,

môy ê-nitawêyihtamêk

ka-kipihtowêyêk.