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Winter Salon

February 25, 2025

The home of Valerie Paley

 

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Voices of Ascension is a New York City-based professional ensemble dedicated to sharing the transformative power of choral music through performances, commissions, and community engagement. With an unwavering commitment to artistic excellence, Voices of Ascension’s vision is to create a diverse musical community that celebrates the breadth of classical and choral music while fostering the next generation of artists and music-lovers. 

 
 
 
 

Mihkokwaniy

Joshua Whitehead

poet Joshua Whitehead. Learn More

 

Mihkokwaniy - Joshua Whitehead

my kokum has many names
the indian woman
the whitehead lady
a saskatoon female
but my favourite is:
the beauty queen;

they never meant to call her beautiful
what they meant by beauty was:
Cheapdirtybrownprostitutedrugaddict-
Alcoholicfirewaterslut
when they write:
"an indian about 35 years old
naked from the waist down
died from asphyxiation
at the queen's hotel
effects of alcohol
&sedatives"

they don't mean beauty as in:
mino iskwēw
or: "pleasing the sense or mind aesthetically;
of a very high standard; excellent"
what they mean is
she is beautiful for a squaw in '62
she pleases the body
of white men who burn in the loins
for the teal-shade of a browning bruise;
when i type into google
"how to say beautiful in cree"
i get: shaoulle
& when i type that into google i get:
"brutal murder-sex assault case"
seeRE:rinelleharpercindygladuetinafontaine 

that's my grandmother:
she is a mino iskwēw
the beauty queen
a woman with a name:
rose whitehead
&shediedbecauseofit

i read somewhere that saskatchewan
is an economic machine
for producing rape—
seed&honey
& in tisdale you can buy a mug that says:
the land of rape and honey
that's where my kokum is buried 

& her grave is a modest little place
where rabbits visit & sometimes chew
where little dandelions bloom
grant wishes to the wind
to her children who are scattered
across the plains of kanata
looking for a quick fix
& for anger to heal
or at least amend
like it does for a judge
who gifts a man six years
for the death of three women;
i think of my nôhtâwiy
her son who lost his name to a polish man
& felt the sting of day schools
even if priests beat & made honey
with their fists smooshed
into the sweet rot of little brown boys
who liked hockey & lived in suburbs
with whites who made them wait
in the freezing cold
& broke their noses on the ice—
but you're still not ready to apologize
for that just  ̶w̶h̶i̶t̶e̶ yet 

my kokum has made many headlines:
"woman found strangled"
being the most consistent
a fifty word article that calls for sympathy
not for the "strangulation death
of the whitehead woman"
but for the man:
steven kozaruk of esterhazy
who "was suffering from the effects
of alcohol and sleeping pills"
even with a "seven-man jury"
& "thirteen witnesses," lives—
his whiteness is his weakness
(even if its biceps can crack a brown neck like a wishbone)
and that weakness is his innocence;
the life of my kokum is worth:
six years & fifty words;
all these things overlap
interweave, interlay, interplay, interact

my kokum is famous
a real holly golightly
i bet she even eats
fried bologna sandwiches
at tiffanys
aint that right gran?
when i visit your grave
in saskatoon
i see the face of kozaruk
on the prairie scene
Fatteninginsuburbia
& here you are
with a rag-tag little monument
made of sticks & leaves
stems from jackrabbits
that seem to visit often
a little blue ribbon
god knows from who
& a sad little brown boy
with a million questions like:
how are you doing?
do you hate klik too?
what would life have been like
if you had lived beyond thirtyfive?
would i be alive?
would the cancers in my dad
not have crept & lived
spelled doom on his skin?
would i be able to speak cree
without having to google translate
this for you?
would you make me cookies
& teach me how to sew back on the limbs
to my plush rabbit floppy ears?
would you call me "m'boy?"
& take me to sundances
powwows, bingo nights too?
would you make sure i feed the rez dogs
when they all come around?
would you make me a jingle dress
cause i want to be a pretty dancer like you—
would you teach me what it means to be two-spirit
tell me i can be a beautiful brown boy in love?
make me say niizh manitoag—feel the power on the tongue?
would you teach me to knead bannock
make life from lard—
a real ratio for reckoning?

hi kokum?
can i call you on the phone?
i promise not to call collect
i just want to hear your voice
tell you i learned what it means
to say i love you
& feel the whole of cree
coalescing in my breath:
kisâkihitin; my god, kisâkihitin 

hey gran?
can i ask you something quick?
are you okay up there in godknowswhere?
do you see what we've all done?
my dad says these things all happen for a reason
that i wouldn't be here if they didn't
hey gran?
i'm sorry—
you know that right?
did you have to die for me to be alive?
heygranheygranheygranheygran 

i'll let you be
& stop being sick'ning
i bet you're busy
cooking macaroniandtomatosoup
for twelve hundred missing & murdered women,
girls & two-spirit folk 

it's just, am i supposed to hate him, gran?
tell him that with one death
he ruined the lives of an entire family?
i want to tell him that the life of a person
is an archive of memory
& when you he strangled the life out of you
in a queens hotel shoddy little bed
the last gasping breath you exhaled
held in it little particles
fragments of time:
a bay leaf boiling in tomato sauce;
a flake of tuna that a
cat named randy
licked&licked
the soft cry of a baby boy
plummeting into day;
the smell of sweet grass smudging
monsters from our bedrooms;
tell him: when you kill a memory
you snuff out metaphor
turn off the light in a home;
you destroy a world where children
are nursing still
—& aint that the hardest truth?

to be honest
i'm no aeneas
no marvellous country house poem
no faeryland, no golden world
no chimeric homeric epic
i'm just a little brown boy
queered by his colour
writing for a kokum he's never met;
but i promise you:
these spaces can transform
an injun into a warrior
who can claw, scrape, fight
who can write on a piece of paper
sign a name instead of an 'X'
that says, "this is my kokum
& her name is Rose Whitehead;
and she is
beauty queen extraordinaire."

 
 

 

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