.

my earliest memory of history comes
from elementary school, of the French
who settled Upper Canada, of Samuel
de Champlain, the cours du bois,
survival tips from their friends the
MicMac, their joie de vivre. I do not
recall being taught overtly stereotypical
notions of `francophone`. no blue tuques
nor excessive smoking, no British 'saving'
them from despotic rule. but recently, a
francophone friend of mine spoke about
how Québekers learn canadian history
differently, that her earliest memory
contains Louis Hébert who fell from
the roof of his log cabin one day
and left his family to fend for
themselves, and other daily hardships
of settling a wilderness. although
our two versions of canadian history
vary incrementally, neither of us
recall divisive stereotypes of
`anglophone` or `francophone` and
instead, only remember the notion
of vive la differance.

today I sat on a beach filled with
mallard ducks and canada geese, three
mute swans and a host of gulls. there,
I could easily imagine what this place
must have looked like without its
industrial horizon, without the urbanities
of hydro lines and skyscapers to puntuate
the nearby escarpment. without politics.
instead, I only saw unending green and
blue silently bracketed by the timeless
flight of birds.

amidst these states of things and utterances,
bodies and signs, their infinitives and
territories, lines of flight, assemblages,
I note how easily my history uncodes yours
and inspite of this, the heart finds
meaning in the smallest things,
in wings and beaks
and blue and green.