In the Dog House

by Wanda John-Kehewin

tagged: canadian

Description

In her first idiom-shattering book of poetry, Wanda John-Kehewin endeavours to “speak her truth,” combining elements of First Nations oral tradition with a style of dramatic narrative that originates from the earliest traditions of cultural storytelling and also keeps pace with the rhythmical undulations of Canadian poets such as James Reaney and E.J. Pratt.

However, in a contemporary setting, the magniloquent narrative of nation-building has given way to fragmentary and reflexive self- examination that is inextricably bound to a history of colonization, the residual effects of which are buried deep within silent sufferers. Divided into four aspects of the Medicine Wheel – one of many stone structures scattered across the Alberta Plains – this collection calls for us to acknowledge the blatant neglect of quality of life on Native reserves and to explore ameliorative processes of restorative justice.

In emotive and yet wryly unsentimental tones, John-Kehewin lends her voice to many forms of suffering that surround enforced loss of culture, addressing topics such as alcohol addiction, familial abandonment, religious authority, sexual abuse, and the pain of mourning for loved ones. John-Kehewin does not spare herself when relating her own stories, even as she tells the stories of others that are so like her own, admonishing humanity for its lack of conscience in poems that journey from the turmoil of the Gaza Strip to rapidly dissolving ice floes …

Wanda John-Kehewin is, as she describes herself, “a First Nations woman searching for the truth and a way to be set free from the past” – shoving aside that lingering sense of shame and stigma – taking the reader on a healing journey that reveals language to be an elusive creature indeed and one that gives new definition to what being “in the dog house” could be, if we as human beings listen carefully and learn to remedy our misunderstandings.

About the Author

Wanda John-Kehewin (she/her/hers) is a Cree writer who uses her work to understand and respond to the near destruction of First Nations cultures, languages, and traditions. When she first arrived in Vancouver on a Greyhound bus, she was a pregnant nineteen-year-old carrying little more than a bag of chips, a bottle of pop, thirty dollars, and hope. After many years travelling (well, mostly stumbling) along her healing journey, she now writes to stand in her truth and to share that truth openly. A published poet and fiction author, her first novel for young adults, Hopeless in Hope, was nominated for the Sheila A. Egoff Children’s Literature Prize and was named to USBBY's Outstanding International Books list.

Excerpt

Mother Thunder

I only exist if not for the Alberta storms
that saved me from a life of containment.
I knew without a doubt there was hope
after mother thunder shared her fire and her songs
and painted a picture beyond my yellowing past;
possessing me with poverty and circumstance.

I remember mother thunders untrained beauty
calling me as always from a time before,
before my eyes were open and clear
and my spirit in denial and my mind locked.

I have not seen mother thunder
since I abandoned the Alberta Plains
in a fight and flight to see and be more
than the confines of the colonial walls
that seemed to wrap its arms tighter
smothering me until I should just give.
The reservation does not call me home
But I am reminded of home when my
Only lonely friend was mother thunder.

I miss the crawling lightening
And the day shattering moment
That reveals the stark of night striking light
That is mother thunders child called lightning
who is my friend and calls to me from home
who heightens, lightens and brightens
The exact moment that the rain fingertips
paint my face and I miss calling her name
and feeling her gentle anger ignite my fire.
Mother thunder who makes me dance in the rain
and stirs flashes of light across her cobalt canvas
and drenches me in her tears and benches me in white light
I miss the plains I have abandoned…

In the Dog House

Teardrops hang from barren trees,
sickly grass slouches upon the
earthly bed- defeated, disassociated.

Cold, washed out blue,
flanked by threatening billows,
encircling and encasing the dog house
and the two lives buried within it.

She hunches in fetal pose
in the backside of the dog house.
She counts spiral knotholes,
seizing her breath,
tracing nature’s patterns,
now forced to be a part
of something else
Her something else-
Her somewhere else
She’d rather be.

She traces the knotholes
and counts them over, and over again
and feels a false consolation.
“Yes”, she says to herself, “still 7”

Indifferent splats of rain
rap on the weather battered roof.
Thin arms embrace shivering dog.
Listening for footsteps,
she hopes they are rain beats
or heartbeats,
and not footsteps.

Bone cold water
oozes through the cracks,
trickling, seeking end.
She can hear the dogs’ life drum
as weary as her own.
Finally, her lost breath returns
They both fall to sleep,

In the safety of the dog house.

Contributor Notes

Cree poet Wanda John-Kehewin has studied criminology, sociology, Aboriginal studies, and creative writing while attending Simon Fraser University’s TWS Writing Program. She uses writing as a therapeutic medium for understanding and responding to the near decimation of Native culture, language, and tradition.

John-Kehewin has been published in Quills Poetry, Salish Seas, UBC’s Aboriginal Anthology, SFU’s Emerge anthology. She has shared her writing on Co-op Radio and performed at numerous readings throughout Vancouver's lower mainland, including for the Writer’s Union Guild of Canada.

Editorial Reviews

John-Kehewin writes with great honesty about living a life in which those taboo subjects ‘like alcohol addiction, abandonment, religion, and sexual abuse,’ interpolate their way into every day’s living. – eclecticruckus “Her work is brave, brilliant, and relentless. Her voice deserves to be heard.” – Garry Gottfriedson “Between the body & the utterance is the meaning. Read these poems aloud – as if your life depended upon it – for it does. Wanda John-Kehewin unstops our ears with her unflinching evocation of the “colonial pesticide” now threatening all forms of life.” – Betsy Warland, Breathing the Page – Reading the Act of Writing “Playful, painful, indignant, compassionate, a new voice emerges into the realms of Canadian poetry. Wanda John-Kehewin is a smart, sharp observer, and an articulate craftswoman. Her poetry shines.” – Joanne Arnott

“Between the body & the utterance is the meaning. Read these poems aloud – as if your life depended upon it – for it does. Wanda John-Kehewin unstops our ears with her unflinching evocation of the “colonial pesticide” now threatening all forms of life.”
– Betsy Warland, Breathing the Page – Reading the Act of Writing

“Her work is brave, brilliant, and relentless. Her voice deserves to be heard.”
– Garry Gottfriedson

“Playful, painful, indignant, compassionate, a new voice emerges into the realms of Canadian poetry. Wanda John-Kehewin is a smart, sharp observer, and an articulate craftswoman. Her poetry shines.”
– Joanne Arnott

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In the Dog House

by Wanda John-Kehewin

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