Six Nations of the Grand River

By Peter McIntyre

We stand, peering out the windows No one to make us sit In rows, erect, face forward. See you standing in front of us

Do you know we are here, Can you feel our presence?

Peering, yes, but there is nothing To see we do not know Nothing we anticipate seeing To enjoy or enrich us

Scene we have seen, experienced Long before you arrived To wonder how we lived in this place.

Living it was not. You know a small piece of it, you hear See, listen, understand But we cannot tell you Our response, our feeling... Learning firsthand from us No longer exists as a possibility We see out the windows Actually sightless.

Yet we are here We know where we are To us there isn’t a secret

No mystery, nothing to find To discover or unearth

As we occupy these spaces.

You don’t know, aren’t sure Want to discover Yet there is no strange place For us; we are here, in it.

We don’t relish being here Never did, never will Yet we cannot leave... It isn’t that we don’t know how All souls know that... It is, where do we go?

Is where we were before we were here Still there?

Are those among whom we were Still there if we arrive? Will anyone greet us, dance with and for us, build and ignite a fire? Does what was home before this was not Remain somewhere for us?

To return, to wander, to meander

To embrace, feel, smell, caress, touch, taste

To stand, look, peer at a place That we could after all this Call home?

A place for us to rest... Rest in Peace.