In the name of the father


This is where they came
in the name of the father,
here where sunsets
with red eyes
sink into black pines
along the Canadian Shield.
Here the rocks
bear witness to
unmarked graves, and
pigeons with crayon eyes
stare out from
cracked chimneys
to the river where
the currents still hear
the murmur of the
Bedtime Prayer.
“Oh, my God I adore you …
Protect me this night and
may your grace be
with me always…”
Here the winds sift softly
over paint-peeled walls
and ache upon the absence
of each unwanted one,
unkissed, unclaimed,
weeping in loneliness
in the name of the
father, and waiting
for the hand upon the door.
Here time still crawls with
the crimes of men in robes
and women in white and
mounties who never came
in the name of the father.
The earth holds
every strangled cry, and
shelters the abandoned bones,
and here, at the going down
of the sun, and in the morning,
it remembers them.
And nothing
in the name of the father,
not even the river
with all its eternity,
can bear the stain away.

© 2009 - Photo Blog: Residential Schools - In the name of the father