the shell finally comes around to you
sweet sage breathing against your face
the smoke infects your lungs
wraps around your neck and
strangles you
the interrogation lights beam overhead
questioning everything
what are you doing?
why are you here?
what makes you think you deserve this?
you have no answer
your throat tightens.
a cold chill takes hold of you.
thousands of pins
prick
delicate
flesh
you need to escape.
but you can’t, you don’t want to.
deep down you want to stay
this is your culture
right? yes.
eyes are watching
waiting for what you’ll do next
wondering why your veins are ice
why the smoke is choking you
you take a deep breath
let the mist roll over your hands
pull it towards your face
hands cupped
like the splashing water in the basin
every morning
it washes over your face
attempting to pluck the impurities
hope fills your being
but when you look up
you wince
the reflection staring back at you
is still one
of a ghost.
Isabella Phillips was born on the saltwater coasts of rural Mi’kma’ki (Nova Scotia), but has recently moved to Tiohtià:ke to reconnect with her family in Kahnawà:ke. This long journey of reconnection, as well as her experiences with being a queer person breaking away from Christian influences in the rural countryside, have shaped the very essence of her poetry and art. Now, when she isn’t studying, Isabella spends her time creating. She does not discriminate by medium, often finding herself painting, beading, and even dabbling in basketry. But the art form that always calls her back is poetry. Pouring words onto paper while the stars dance outside. With her words and ink, Isabella aims to reconnect not only with her culture and with mother nature, but also with that little girl inside that dreamed of being an artist.