Skip to main content

kiyâm: ê-wîtisânîhitoyâhk êkwa ê-pêyâhtakowêyâhk - Relative Clause

kiyâm
ê-wîtisânîhitoyâhk êkwa ê-pêyâhtakowêyâhk - Relative Clause
    • Notifications
    • Privacy

“ê-wîtisânîhitoyâhk êkwa ê-pêyâhtakowêyâhk - Relative Clause” in “kiyâm”

ê-wîtisânîhitoyâhk êkwa ê-pêyâhtakowêyâhk ~ Relative Clause

nisîmê, my sister, your jokes,

those cracks you’re always looking

for, cracks in the sidewalk, cracks

in the foundation, anything

to goad the gloom.

How do you do it, my sister;

how do you think so fast?

tânisi anima ê-isi-tôtaman, nisîmê.

tânisi anima ê-isi-kisiskâ-mâmitonêyihtaman?

You’re the Mother Magpie.

Such a sense of humour

have you, you don’t mind

presiding over a clutch of crows.

Tell a joke, my sister, that story

the one that makes us laugh

no matter how many times

you tell it.

naniwêyitwê, nisîmê, anima âcimowin

kâ-mâci-pâhpiyâhk mâna ahpô piko

tahtwâw kâ-âcimoyan.

nisîmê, my brother, your giggle,

that one you laugh when you forget

you’re an adult, yes, that one.

It tickles all who hear.

Your children, your sister’s children,

adults, we’re all amused

when something enchants you.

We like to hear your giggle, that one,

the one that beguiles the blahs.

nimiywêyihtênân

ka-pêhtâtâhk kâ-kêyakâhpisiyan,

nisîmê, anima kêyakâhpisiwin

kâ-ohci-pâhpiyâhk.

nisîmê, yes you, my only brother,

the one who most bears

the evidence of our Cree

inheritance, the baby blue

lumbar bruise, the one who

has to explain he’s not Lebanese

but Métis. Giggle, my brother,

giggle when your funny-bone itches,

and cry when your heart hurts.

It’s okay my brother, giggle your child’s

giggle, cry your grown man’s cry.

kiyâm nisîmê, pâhpi

anima kêyakâhpisiwin,

tâpiskôc ana awâsis

kâ-kêyakâhpisit;

mâto anima mâtowin

tâpiskôc nâpêw kâ-isi-mâtot.

nisîmê, my younger sister,

you are the youngest and the oldest.

Born of a different mother,

but my sister anyhow.

nisîmê, having borne children

yourself, and the burning worry

of a vessel filled with a history

so diagnosable it’s preventable. Protect

your children from this burden, nisîmê.

Laugh, my sister. Celebrate

your children, those children

the ones you love, with laughter.

manâcihik kitawâsimisak

ôma pwâwatêwin ohci.

pâhpi nisîmê. miyawâsik

kitawâsimisak,

aniki awâsisak

kâ-sâkihacik,

miyawâsik, asici pâhpiwin.

Your smile, my youngest sister,

could fill your children’s hearts

to the brim. Fill their hearts, my sister,

with love. Leave no room

for liquid misgivings.

sâkihik kitawâsimisak, nisîmê.

Mom, nikâ, I heard you say twice you wished

you had learned to speak Cree.

Is that so, Mom, or have the curious

stares, restaurant chairs empty

and unavailable, neighbours

from afar, bad neighbours,

ungrateful guests, have

they discouraged you? Laugh at them,

Mom; laugh in their faces.

pâhpihik, nikâ, pâhpihik;

têpwê-pâhpihik.

I remember you told us, Mom,

when the leaves on black poplars turn

upwards, it will rain. Did you know,

Mom, this is a natural sign

the Cree use? Remember Dad’s laugh?

Remember how his whole body

would shake with delight?

He’s gone now, Mom, but remember

his laugh, that laugh, the one

that made us all feel better.

ê-kî-nakatikoyahk êkwa,

nikâ, mâka kiskisitota

opâhpiwin, anima pâhpiwin

kâ-kî-nahêyihtamihikoyahk.

All my relatives, you, the ones who

married my siblings,

my nieces and nephews,

my aunties and uncles,

my cousins, my grandparents,

the ones who came before,

the ones who will come after.

kahkiyaw niwâhkômâkanak, kiyawâw

kâ-wîkimâyêkok nîtisânak,

nitânisak êkwa nistimak, nitihkwatimak êkwa nikosisak,

nikâwîsak êkwa nôhcâwîsak,

niciwâmiskwêmak, nitawêmâwak, nicâhkosak êkwa nikêhtê-ayimak,

aniki nistam kâ-kî-pê-takosihkik,

aniki mwêstas kê-takosihkik.

Some of you are Cree,

some of you are not,

but we all live in Cree country.

Close your eyes for just a moment.

Listen for the rhythms

of the region,

pulse of the prairie.

Can you hear it?

Shhhh, now

kiyâmapi êkwa. Try to block

out all that other noise. There,

you can hear it in the dirges

of the birches, and spruces tuned

with the wind. And there,

in the declarations

of history. In the laughter

of old and young,

then and now.

Shhhh. kiyâmapi.

It’s a pleasing refrain,

that echo,

the one that won’t go away.

miyohtâkwan

anima cîstâwêwin,

êwako êkâ kâ-pônihtâkwahk.

Next Chapter
Critical Race Theory at Canadian Tire
PreviousNext
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License (CC BY-NC-ND 2.5 CA). It may be reproduced for non-commercial purposes, provided that the original author is credited.
Powered by Manifold Scholarship. Learn more at
Opens in new tab or windowmanifoldapp.org
Manifold uses cookies

We use cookies to analyze our traffic. Please decide if you are willing to accept cookies from our website. You can change this setting anytime in Privacy Settings.