Behind The Pines

Behind the Pines

Have you seen a story,

Touched a memory,

Smelt the pain,

Read an old face.

Felt the same old wind,

That they did,

And noticed that your whole being is drowning?



I was wandering in those empty fields,

Hiding behind the white bark birch trees,

Touching the abandoned swing,

Rolling on those small hills,

Near the round lake,

Where they had to run every day.

Behind the pines

Where I could not go

And you cannot see,

There is a cemetery.

Keep a minute of silence

For the kids that were forced

Into Residential Schools.

By Julián Gutiérrez Castaño

Pictures by Melinda Enns