Poem / Kinship

a love letter to my qáqnaʔ

A sqilxʷ poet and artist who currently lives in Mohkínstsis, Treaty 7 in Canada speaks to their grandmother of longing and connection, wanting to wake up the medicine she planted within.
A photograph features a landscape with a large body of blue water in the foreground encircled by trees, small homes, and a few roads. The hills on which the latter sit ascend into mountains in the distance against blue skies.

Kalamalka Lake in present-day British Columbia roots the author’s family, ancestors, and community, of the Okanagan Indian Band, in place.

Ryan Van Veen/Flickr

“a love letter to my qáqnaʔ” is part of the collection Indigenizing What It Means to Be Human. Read the introduction to the collection here.

a love letter to my qáqnaʔ - Listen
1:44

way̓
i’ve said hello to you before [1] In their poem, the author does not use capitalization as an act of resistance and self-determination. The n̓səlxčin̓ language, the language of the syilx people, does not follow the same frameworks and styling as the colonially imposed English language. Billy-Ray Belcourt’s memoir A History of My Brief Body, in which he opens the book with a love letter to his kokum, or grandmother, inspired this poem.
but it feels better in our language

do you remember me?
do you feel me?
am i doing things in a good way?

i want to be patient and warm and caring
i do
i am trying my best

can you smell me when i smudge? am i even doing it right?

i was told being stamiyaʔ can come from embrace,
sharing spirit and love and ribbon skirts

i see you in the water

does your embrace live in my body?
my blood? my bones? my shame?
our pain? our joy?

have you been with me every day?
with us?
was it even your choice?
i think about you all the time

coercion can also be structural, i know that,
i’m sorry

did you plant that medicine in me?
long roots coiling around my bones, my DNA
spinning in a dream

that’s your embrace,
the dirt within my blood,
a river inside of me,
rustling leaves, pink lip gloss, boundless love
i am trying to wake it up
we are trying
we always have been
but, it feels different now

i thought it was gone
honestly, i didn’t even know how much was there to be gone

you gave me breath
what else was passed down?

what was your favorite kind of tea?
is it okay that i don’t look like you?
i can you feel in my dreams

i introduce myself to you and the water, to you
inx̌mink inqáqnaʔ
can you see me smile now?

AJ Kluck (they/them/čniłč) is an interdisciplinary artist living in Mohkínstsis, Treaty 7 in Alberta, Canada. Their mother is Irish, and their father is sqilxʷ. Kluck’s practice is rooted in building slow and gentle relationships with the land and community, healing intergenerational trauma, processing their identity as a sk̓ʷsk̓ʷtmsqiltk (half-blood) person, and celebrating and reconnecting with sylix ways of being and knowing. Kluck is currently studying sculpture at the Alberta University of the Arts.

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