Brick Books
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: awâsis – kinky and dishevelled / Louise B. Halfe – Sky Dancer.
Other titles: Kinky and dishevelled
Names: Halfe, Louise, author.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200401890 | Canadiana (ebook) 2020040198x |
isbn 9781771315487 (softcover) | isbn 9781771315494 (html) |
isbn 9781771315500 (pdf)
Subjects: lcgft: Poetry.
Classification: lcc ps8565.a4335 a95 2021 | ddc c811/.54—dc23
Copyright © Louise B. Halfe – Sky Dancer, 2021
We acknowledge the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author photo was taken by Kimball V. Regier.
Cover painting by Sherry Farrell Racette: Kinky and Dishevelled, 2020, gouache on illustration board, 11 x 14.5 inches.
Brick Books
487 King St. W.
Kingston, ON
k7l 2x7
www.brickbooks.ca
Louise, I dreamed
you were in the middle of a busy road
holding a wee small bag.
Inside, it looked like someone was dancing,
dancing hard.
You had trouble holding it.
What is happening? I thought.
Coming closer,
I heard music, laughter.
Then I started to dance too.
Step dance, round dance,
slow, at first, painfully.
I began to laugh,
and laugh, and I laughed
’til my belly hurt.
Step dancing, round dancing,
until I fell out of bed.
OMG Louise!
I haven’t laughed like this
in so many years.
Our old âtayôhkêwina, sacred stories,
tell us Sky Woman gave birth to awâsis
and his sister mahihkan long, long ago.
And when she died, nôhkomis, nôtokwêw âtayôhkan,
that first old grandmother, raised the two of them.
I will tell his story quickly.
He had many names,
but the spring is here and the snow has gone,
so I will call him kistêsinaw, Elder brother,
Trickster, teacher, healer.
kôhkominaw, nôtokwêw âtayôhkan taught him the stories,
the songs, and all the wiyasiwêwina
so we could live miyo-pimâtisiwin,
a life of love, honour, respect, courage, strength, and truth.
The âtayôhkêwina say he was with us for a long, long time,
Long after they came to our land.
And then one day he was gone.
He went toward the west they say,
to the setting sun,
promising he would one day return.
And we will see him and hear him he said.
As the time nears
he will show himself
In a dance, a song, a kâkîsimowin,
in the laughter of awâsis.
hay hay, maarsi niwâhkômâkan, mon kouzou
I am giving you a big sack of tobacco.
Ten metres of strong cotton cloth (sôhkêkin).
And an ice cream bucket of wild strawberries.
Such power, Louise. I have never laughed so hard—and all by myself. You are a healing storyteller wandering in from old kayâs long ago. This is all about Indigenizing and reconciliation among ourselves. It’s the kind of funny, shake-up, poking, smacking, and farting we all need while laughing our guts out. And it’s beautiful, gentle, and loving.
—Maria Campbell
My brother Skinny Weasel
and my otter brother
Shorttail Octopus
always said I was the Ug-ly one.
But you decide.
My nose has moguls
from a black-diamond ski hill,
a moose nose.
My floppy ears whip back
when I hear a juicy âcimowinis. little story
awâsis chose me! child
Me!
Me, to share these droll
adventures.
He-she is a she-he
who loves a slippery, stretchy yarn.
I like the way awâsis’s âcimowinis darts
up and down my bones,
through my big belly
and arrows into my heart.
awâsis, awâsis. I’ve heard
the settler is confused
about your shape-shifting.
You can’t decide
if you’re an animal or a human,
if you are a he or a she.
I am your wâhkômâkanis. relative
awâsis, like her cousin wîsahkêcâhk, loving spirit/trickster
was a shape-shifter—
a coyote, a raven, a fox,
a crow, a weasel. I just knew
she was fascinating.
ninîkihikwak used to say my parents
kayâs our people spoke with all Creation. old days
And Creation understood each other.
The âtayôhkêwina say animals and legends
humans shape-shifted.
awâsis is a rubber-lipped horse,
an obnoxious mouse,
somersaulting thunder,
a seductive breeze
whispering into my hearing aid.
She’s hidden her laughter
under my travel-worn feet.
Blended into my sagging, wrinkled skin.
The owl wisdom of her face
is the skylight of my dreams.