give me the land,
call her by her name,
Akii, meaning dirt
or soil or molecules.
ohmamaaminaan,
mother of us all,
she lives in marrow,
along the inner line
of shoreline I carry
in the eye’s inseam.
let me be hers,
daughter of everything
I have loved,
lakes and spruce
and mountains
under blackness.
say I belong here,
this place, now—
and for every time
they misgender me
by the wrong pronouns
or the old name,
let her answer for me:
Gaawiin, nidanis
no, my daughter
is the same woman
I made her
at birth.
Awus Awus
awus awus—
every day walking by people
who stare
or laugh,
call me names,
threaten this body.
they’re confused
by my vintage dresses
and my 5 o’clock shadow
the eyeliner, mascara rimmed
eyes in blue highlight
awus awus—
every day I say
get back, go away
these dogs
that follow me,
yes it’s true
I look like a man
in a dress in heels
it upsets them,
I know I won’t be
invisible like before
they’re hunting me
every place I go,
I ask myself
is it safe
it never is
just these words,
an insult in Ojibwe
speak to a human
like a begging dog
awus awus—
if my gookum asks
why I’m so rude
I’ll tell her
“they started it”.
