I forsook the primal diet of the Anishinabeg
and the path of moderation,
nuts and berries and natural foods
in their natural concentrations
in their times and seasons.
In my ignorance and hubris
I drank the White Man’s liquids,
so sweet with promise but empty of sustenance.
I squandered good money on his poisons
because their concentration made them rich in flavor,
and their portions were generous.
I did not listen to the wise elders,
nor the inner Voice of Gizhi Manidoo.
Now I am always hungry and thirsty
and after I have gorged myself, I am left wanting more.
In the winter I did not emerge from hibernating in my lodge
I did not stretch forth from my slumber.
I grew corpulent
because I would not exercise my rights to participate
in the daily and seasonal rituals of The People.
When I noticed the signs of turning,
it was already five years too late.
My body began betraying me.
At first the arches of my feet felt a refreshing and novel coolness,
then later tingled,
and later burned with hot pins and needles.
I could not walk through my beloved forest,
because the bones of my toes felt like breaking.
My feet were on fire.
They were beset by festering sores.
Now I stump around
because my feet are cut off and I am numb.
I have become blinded as well.
Over the years
I have forgotten the ways of my people.
I have grown not to care…
about anything.
I have forgotten about every one,
as cobwebs grow within my mind.
Now,
I cannot do the simplest tasks.
I cannot even feed myself.
I have grown to be…
less than an animal.
They sit me in the light,
and I am sometimes lulled by music,
although I cannot tell you why.
I am alone.
Do not fear me, oh Anishinabeg.
I cannot hurt you.
Disease will eventually take me.
Fear becoming me.
For if you become me,
Mitsha Manidoo, will have won.
This is phenomenal.
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Thank you Dale!
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Overwhelmed…
🙂
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Thanks Marina!
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very welcome, Russ!
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Greetings, I quickly read this and feel that I must sink into the message a bit more before I can fully express my thoughts. What I can say is this: deeplyfelt, profoundly written. Your written thoughts gives this one much to reflect on. Thank you for sharing. Daisy
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Thanks for your comment Daisy!
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Thanks for your compliments Daisy!
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sad
________________________________
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But True!
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A powerful, powerful lament, Russ. The symbolism of the Windigo metamorphosed into the white man’s food, leading to corpulence and what is obviously diabetes and the terrible consequences of diabetes, sends chills up and down my spine. Good poetry reaches into the subconscious as well as the conscious mind, and this qualifies as good, strong poetry.
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Thanks for the compliments Thomas. The other scary thing is, researchers are now calling a certain kind of Alzheimers “Type 3 Diabetes”.
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This is truly great writing.
Much truth in your words!
We believed it was food because it was sold to us as such.
But this “food” was processed with stuff that our bodies couldn’t even recognize, much less process. Just a combination of chemicals in brightly colored packages.
Many of us get sick before we wake up and realize the truth.
And then, often, it is too late to turn things around.
Then there is a feeling of betrayal. followed by deep sadness and regret.
Thank you for posting this poem.
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Elegant, excellent, soulful poetry…
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Thanks Lindy Lee! I appreciate your comment!
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