Made of memory
We are being and
Becoming
and not what language tells us
hardly literate or articulate
We are not language
We are long term learning
And yet
We leave the camera on
To record history
And hold the moment
As though we prefer the suffering
The short term antidote of identification
With pain
For centuries we’ve been afraid
Of questioning
Seeking inner truths
And so, teaching has gone silent
Trees are waking up now
Holding us in their long ancient branches
Comforting us as we shed the last tears of trauma
That we self inflicted
And counselling us as we recount the stories
Of where we come from and how
We were made to be slaves
Helping us to be free if we should choose to be
