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The Fresco Says It All!


From the mountain,
From the forest,
From the river,
From the wild,
We came.
Naked.
Not tamed
In their eyes.

Depicted by cathedral fresco
At Mission BC
Our faces are empty
In their eyes.
No clothes,
No nose,
No eyes,
No ears,
No mouth,
No expression,
No emotions.
No individuals.
We were the faceless
In their eyes
Before the Black Robes 
Came.

In their eyes
Were we
Barren pewter plates?
Empty jugs?
Blank paper to write on?
Creatures to domesticate?
To tame?

In their eyes
Were we cyphers
In a ledger?
Were we souls
In a cash register
For deposit in Rome?

In their eyes did they see
'Chum' salmon
Heading home to die
In God?



As seen in their fresco
As seen by their eyes,
Out from the watery wilderness 
The first of us converted,
Got a colourless face and shoulders.
The second to convert 
Got copper coloured skin, 
Got face legs and arms,
And from Rome a number,
To mark a soul as saved,
As the numbers as blessings
Were tallied in a roster 
At St Peters.

At first,
We resisted conversion
Until small pox struck our village.
An invasive species like the Europeans.
It brought fatigue, then death after
Rashes, lesions and pus-filled scabs.
As loved ones were perishing
In the fever of the plaque,
We were promised
Life after death
With our elders
In a beautiful heaven.
As seven out of ten
Of our people died
We were saved.

We were promised salvation
And residential schools
For our children.

We have survived it all
As a people.
But we are still living 
with the scars
Not of small pox
But from our saving.
This was no miracle.

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