La Langue de La Mère

The tongue of the mother
The flesh of the earth that tenderly tethers you to your root
A nourishing nest where your soul forms, then rests, like a drop of dew in a tiare flower

Papeete, Tahiti: a glinting tiger’s eye set in the silver of the south Polynesian sea; a French father and French-Scottish mother, both grateful migrants on sacred land

On the 7th cresting wave, my nascent mouth inhales the mystery & my mother tongue, la langue de la mère, the language of the sea

Ce ne sont pas les mots, c'est la musique de l'esprit qui parle

Following the footsteps of our great grandmothers & fathers who danced in the wake of the caribou and medicine plants, sustenance and songlines lead us to western shores

A new tongue grows in my mouth

I will keep gentle hold of my mother's tongue
And of her mother's tongue, and back through the nesting dolls of my people until I realize…a time before words from where all beings rise - a silent totem, our collective backbone

Like our raven ancestors we fly above man-made borderlines
Propelled by the breath of our revolutionary mother
We spiral into our divine tribes