admiring a lover

The parts of your face

you hate the most

are the parts of your face

that are the most free:

those almond eyes,

this flat brown nose.

“I like yours more,”

you say, tracing the angles,

following the broken scar,

oblivious to the kneaded contours

bred into this face

by fear and power and intent.

You may like my pointed nose and chin,

but I love my cheekbones

and this near-black hair:

the bones and hair of my mother

and hers before her;

I cherish the parts of me

that honor my people

and our suffering

and our resistance

and our resilience.

The parts of your face

you love the most

are the parts of your face

you were taught to love.

I want you to fight by me,

but I don’t know how to explain this

so that you understand.

more words

more glory

more difference

more beauty

this body

is a temple

to the Sun

and the ancestors

and survival:

I remain.

 

I will not

carve it away,

ravage it further,

to pass through

your imperial

ideal.

 

I will cherish

each hair

and each crease

and every line

that reminds me:

I still remain.

juksakka (warrior goddess)

“She’s kinda like a Sámi Athena.”

“Oh!”

But you don’t understand the pain

or the weight

of the necessity to always elaborate

my history in the uneven

terms of yours.

joik (sacred song)

The depth of meaning

overflows the thimble-cup’s

rim proffered by words.

beaivi (sun goddess)

And at the Sunrise

I pray our faces will be

there to greet her warmth.

njálla (arctic fox)

If Fox hadn’t been mischievous

(and more than a little reckless),

his tail would never have caught fire

and set the sky ablaze:

we wouldn’t have you or the

Northern Lights.

viellja (brother):

When I die,

my soul-spirit will

join the stars,

and my body-spirit will

return to the earth,

and I will always be t/here

to watch over you

and listen to you

and counsel you

and protect you:

like now.

I closed my eyes and saw a fire.

Shadows danced on the faces

of the ancestors seated around me.

Across the circle: my great aunt.

“What do I do,” I asked,

“to be free?”

She pointed at the fire:

“Self-immolate.”

If the ancestors are in the stars

and the ancestors are in the snow

and my soul-spirit can leave this body to find you,

why does your child feel so alone here?