Les Hommes des Vertes Montagnes
six silent, shaken years
as I traversed the borders
between genders
my father’s tuque
he gave me
one snowy day, leaving home
I placed it on my head
and looked
backwoods Vermont gruff
the cologne of snowmobile exhaust
woven into my flannel
looked
like Pépère : like him : like
his son
and I silently kept
and cherished it
like a memory
we never had
Understanding Joanne
Ma grand-mère, Jeanne d’Arc
assassinated/assimilated to Joanne
on the journey to the land
of my birth
My name, an empty line
on the journey from the sex
of my birth
Elbow-deep in soil
tugging tender roots of our tree
for reclamation : for declaration on Official Forms, filled and filed
in a dank small-town court
to bring me home to a place
I’d never lived
now assumed foreigner
in the only land
I’d ever known
Introductions/ethnic interrogations
dressed as
friendly curiosity
but I know
what they really mean is
Why are you different?
You are not Us
Explain your existence, the
history of your bones
till one day I finally understood
Jeanne d’Arc
I understood
Joanne
Integration
You’ve traversed intimate terrain
mapped my Holy Topography
a complex geography...
Stained your fingers
plucking my high-hanging fruit
juice dripping off your elbows
juice
down to your elbows...
Your invited sowing
a sacrament received
absorbed
traveling through veins
warm, transforming
like me...
I know you can’t stay
but you will remain
in my marrow