Susan Linn Poet Free verse

Not Stanley

Not Stanley

Laughing, I said “My stone’s name is Stanley.”
But as soon as the words left my mouth,
I knew that I was wrong.

My name is not Stanley.
You may call me abinoojinh aki
earth child.
I was torn from my home
many lifetimes ago.
The great white destroyer pushed me
where I would not have chosen to go.
I bore the oppressive weight and show the scars,
but I am still myself.
Tiny hands found me and 
gave me a new life.
Wrapped with rawhide around a stick
I became a childish tool;
given to Grandmother,
I became a useful tool.
Together we stripped 
the cedar roots for canoes
and cleaned the flesh from skins.
She named me wiidookaagewinini
helper.
When her life time was ended,
she returned me to Grandson
to remind him of their summers:
open sky, roaring water, giving land.
She named me gizhaadige
guardian.
He carried me on a thong
around his neck - across his chest;
to work in the fields,
to war in the far places,
to the last days.
His hand closed over me,
fingers feeling my cool smoothness.
The rounded edges
fitting into the hollow of his palm
the one, blunted side facing out
as it did when he first plucked me
from the riverbed.
He named me nisayenh
brother.

My name is not Stanley.

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