Song

"You already have".
I don't say it out loud,
but it echoes in me.
Loud and clear.
Cliche, but true.


Last night after yoga class
My bike rolled up to the intersection,
A man with a basketball
Is standing on the corner.
Eyes red, liver ruined,
He looks at me from two feet away
And for a split second I imagine
Ignoring him.
But I am playing with my fight and flight,
As the light takes it's long turn being red.
Learning to stand unprotected
Sometimes, even when I am scared
Or feel threatened.
And I understand that in ignoring him
I might miss something
Important.
So I wait, open to what's next.

I look to him.
Make eye contact, say hi.
He asks,
"Can I sing you a native song?"
I pause, but say yes.
Keeping myself open
So I can see the being inside him.
The depth of it
Wounded beyond imagining,
but still there,
Somewhere.
"Can I sing you a native song?"
He says again,
And twice more.
Each time I say yes.

He drops the ball and it rolls across the sidewalk
As a man comes towards him with a bottle
Wrapped in a paper bag.
My friend has not yet sung his song.
He looks at me,
Away from the bottle for a moment,
our eyes meeting again.
As the basketball drops off the curb
And onto the street,
He stretches his hand towards my chest.

"Can I touch your heart?"
I say no.
But my heart says,
You already have.

The light turns,
The bottle reaches him.
We part ways.


Today at work
I arrived to find the group
That had gathered there
Drumming, singing.
They have come from First Nations communities
Across the island,
Being here in this place
Now devoid of ancient human traditions,
Absconded by colonists.
Disconnected.
They are breathing spirit back into it,
Into us
With a song.

Imperfect as things are in this world,
As I am,
I wonder how the circles
That hold us separate from each other,
Are starting to close.
Or if they can.

As we listened, grateful and vibrating,
The drums played us out of lunch.
The hall filled with beating hearts,
And strong voices
Singing a native song.