by Michael Plante

Blue skies above
rolling clouds that look like home
far away from those that love
alone with those that show no mercy.

Am I being punished for being born?
Is it my skin?
Or the color of my eyes?
Or am I just a pawn in a game of chess?

Is this all they have to offer
is this the world I’m suppose to know?
Hunger, anger, disappointment,
Death.

The sky is all I have to remember
blue, serene, and free
un-molested clouds pass by
reminds me of home.

The wound on my arm hasn’t healed yet
it itches in the night under wool blankets
I speak my native tongue in whispers
for one day I shall return home.

I was forced into a corner one day
beaten with a stick
for being an ungrateful hungry child
they guessed I should know better

The disturbed soil doesn’t fool a child
we understand what lays beneath
we whisper the names of our missing kin
in the darkness of night we remember.

Someone sneaks around in the middle of the night
placing flowers on the un-rested soil
when the light arrives we see new things
as revealed by the Great Creator.

They told me that my parents were dead
starvation or disease got to them
and they never cared for me anyways
or so it was said.

This wound causes me grief
it itches and I feel cold
it seeps onto my blanket
brings more discipline from the darkness.

They finally took me to the place of no return
the infirmary of this hollow structure
my bluing skin is just a reminder
that all native children are ungrateful.

I’m now hidden away from those that love
my friends, my family, my tribe
they too will soon be eradicated
and join me beneath the disturbed soil.

When I return I hope to be a dragonfly
sunning on a summer’s day
upon a flower where we all rest
beneath the soil where I learned about God.


The skies are blue on a sunny day
the un-molested clouds are taking me home.

For the children of the Kamloops Indian Residential School

All compositions that appear on The Poet’s House are composed by Michael Plante and are subject to copyright.

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