i.
When ikwewag litter ditches like deer,
when girl bodies sink—skipped rocks
off greased fingers of Wiindigo.

Inademod—ribbons on our skirt a keening.

                        ii.
Soon funeral casserole becomes habit—
macaroni-corn-hamburger fix in cold basements.
Church bakers worry three eggs in a cake

is extravagance—unnecessary as salt
on a tomato. As two choruses of goodbye.
Her fistful of grave dirt cocked like a gun.

No one can waltz around death in the end.

                        iii.
When her body is a vermillion stranger
a heaving caught, target of gaze.

When her body is a battleground.

                        iv.
Make of your voice a search party.
We, soothsayers, know predator eyes become rivers;
smooth words, a weapon of maji-manidoog.

Only a wide open trunk means no body.

                        v.
She learns how survivors speak of their captors:
my fault my fault, a confiteor of grievous—
silk gown of words—bruised skin worn thin.

Our stories rot. Reek of futurelessness.

                        vi.
On the day she drank holy water like beer,
rammed the Ford against the wrought iron gate;
lace doilies, communion wafers multiplied

in virgin births. Ladies Aid servers looked away.
Oh Saint Nishki, patron of the Red Landless.
In death, is faith an answer or a question?

                       vii.
What then shall we craft of the breaking?
Weep holes in the clay of our bodies.

Only a porous heart withstands floods.

                        viii.
Maamawi. . . mashkogaabawiyang.*

^{*“Together we stand strong.” From the Strong Women’s Song created by Anishinaabe kwewag and Zhoganosh Ikwewag 
in the Prison for Women in Kingston, Ontario.}