my hands are small

with short fingers

a short attention span

and a long temper

 

my hands have driven trucks

down back country roads

with windows down

and laughter echoing

over canola yellow fields

 

this one is for my body

 

my hands have held the fingers

of lovers and entwined their hair

these hands have waved goodbye

and cleaned them from under her nails

 

this one is for northern prairie dirt

 

my hands have held stories

and songs

and screams

 

this one is for when tears don’t feel like ceremony

 

my hands have held keys between knuckles

have held fear in fists

have held the anger in that fear

have held the sadness in that anger

 

this one is for rivers that never stop flowing

 

my hands always have one finger pointing to the exit

even when they are at home

 

this one is for when mourning is a river

 

my hands have shuffled

the same deck of cards that

grandpa did

that kokum did

that mom did

that aunty did

 

this one is for when love and loving aren’t the same thing

 

my hands are ready to

burn it down;

 

rip a hole in the dirt

so that the next generation

of these hands

can dip them in the waters

where the rivers meet.

 

 

Samantha Nock is a Cree-Métis poet and writer from Dawson Creek, B.C.. Her family originates from Sakitawak or Île-à-la-Crosse, Saskatchewan. She has been published in GUTS Magazine, Red Rising Magazine, Shameless Magazine, and Māmawi-ācimowak: Lit, Crit, and Art Literary Journal. She cares about radical decolonization, coffee, corgis, and her two cats, Betty and Jughead. You can find her tweeting at @sammymarie.