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.