For John T Williams of the Nuu-Chah-Nulth tribe, and: Between the Woods

For John T Williams of the Nuu-Chah-Nulth tribe

Who fell facing away fromthe police officer, four bulletstore him out. Handsholding a block of red cedar woodand a small blade he usedto carve canoes and totem poles.After, his brother Rick, sat on that hot pavement.He didn’t turn awayfrom the red block of cedar woodstill shining on the road.The reporters pushedmicrophones into his pain,my brother was deaf.Each word tweezeredfor the trembling broadcast, as ifJohn T Williams was still somewhere readinghis brother’s lips.I dream of the crosswalkat Boren Avenue and Howell Streetwhere John T Williams fell.In my dream he appearsin a white whaling canoe.The street is flooded.When he paddles, the water doesn’t ripple.I ask if he has a favourite sound.The lake melts, becomes a narrow street. A kettle boils silently on the pavement.I turn on my hearing aidsin case the treeshave something to say.John T Williams pointsat my grandma’s house.There are keys hanging in the green door.It opens. Never thought I’d seeGrandma alive again, holding violets.I follow her into the living room.I ask nothing. She pours tea.John T Williams taps the window.He stands in the garden by his totem pole,surrounded by Grandma’s favourite birds,sparrows and blue tits, holdinghigh all their sounds and shadows.

Between the Woods

Give thanks the wheel touching tarmac at JFK, givethanks the latches held our outsized cases, give

thanks handles, what we push and squeezeinto cabins, the wobbling wings, give

thanks, the arrivals, departures, long line at the gates, the heldnerve, real and imagined refusals, give

your name, Antrobus meaning between the woods,thank the hand returning your passport, give

thanks the Lyft driver, the air con, the lightnessof his brown hand at the wheel, the give

of rain on the windows—where should I live?In the body? Between the woods? What gives

when someone says “stop livingin your head,” look what that cloud gives.

I dream in the back seat of the Lyft, listeningto a podcast, the last thing I hear is “gift

your name, Antrobus, to landings and beginnings,your soul needs time to arrive,” give.