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Now Roz (Persian New Year)

January 7, 2016
tags: ,

by Geraldine King

 

I was once told to allow the tears to water my soul; that with torrential showers comes bountiful flowers. For many reasons, the horizon of my heart was vaster than could be seen with the naked eye. Although the soil was fertile, and conditions to grow just right, a seven-year drought impeded its ability to blossom with hope. My tears had dried with the passing of an old life. The ducts were cracked around the edges but managed to stay lubricated with the sweat from painstaking labour out in the hot sun with nothing but a trowel and mad determination. I was once told to allow the tears to water my soul. Fuck that. It is now clear to me that the beams of light from your smile are responsible for bringing the rarest of flowers to my garden. Every time you smile, my heart smiles. Beauty blossoms.

Springtime in my heart.

 


Geraldine King is Anishinaabekwe from Kiashke Zaaging Anishinaabek (Gull Bay First Nation). Geraldine is a Master’s student in the Indigenous Governance Program at the University of Victoria where her primary research interests are centred on Indigenous erotica as viable resurgent governance praxis. Geraldine is the Managing Editor of Intercontinental Cry Magazine, a publication of the Centre for World Indigenous Studies.

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