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The Way I Remember

16 Apr

The skin stretched across my palms is thin
Almost see-through
Everything we ever wanted never came to be
We can’t go back

Everyone I ever wanted has moved on to another place
Some – on to places that I can’t go (yet)
And some – on to places where they don’t want me to follow

Others just pretend I’m dead

And others – just a grey hound ride away,
Just aren’t there anymore.

Nobody is the way I remember

And yet everybody is the way I remember

– By Sarah Scout


Florences Foster Home

10 Apr

I had hope before I met the Mormons.
Before I met Hazel
or Colin or Tara –

I had hope in the darkness
of Florence’s Foster Hell;
as you may know it as
Florence’s foster home.

Did the moon give me hope that night?

The Light from the moon light
reaching all across the cold, hard
frozen landscapes of the reserve.

My eyes adjusted to the night
and I smiled at the light

That night,
I smiled at the light.

-By Sarah Scout

Your Faith Will Never Die

25 Mar

by Sarah Scout

One day
The wind, land and sky
Will crumble and die
The sea will dry
And the birds will not fly,
The rain will not fall
The sun will not shine
“But why?” you’ll ask the Creator,
and he’ll say “because it’s all mine.”
Our existence will be gone
Just toward the end
Blind in the darkness
With nothing left to mend
Locked in without faith
Swallowed by fear
Never ever knowing
Why you were here
As the years pass by
You struggle and fight
Having everything good taken away from you
You know this can’t be right
Standing up proud
Standing up strong
Learning acceptance
You strive to live on
Come back sun
Come by sky
No more fear
Because your faith will never die.

I Decolonize

11 Mar

By Sarah Scout
I decolonize
I decolonize
I decolonize
because I realize
that I was given eyes
to see

ears to hear
blood to be
the human being
that I choose to be

a First Nations woman
who has the right to live in dignity

and beauty

who dares to think
to speak
to say

that the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms
can your God Forbid


to even someone

like me


4 Mar

Don’t get mad at me for what I’ve become

For you created me

You gave birth to the darkest part of me

And that is what I am.

Arms too scaley to hold a baby.

Eyes too black to be seen.

Your baby is in the landfill.

And snow white is in the subburbs

snorting white shit up her nose.

And me?

I am in the garbage of my sister’s house

With your body’s scent still on my skin,

Down, down below.

Down down below.

The message came across the broken waters and wires

The kitchen floor opened beneath her feet,

Until she realized she had been there for hours.

She had realized she had been there before.

Below and before, she stayed there,

Till she didn’t feel anything anymore.

She stayed there,

Until she didn’t feel anything anymore.

– By: Sarah M. Scout –

Rez Dog Harbour

27 Feb

some days I feel like a rez dog,
exhausted from travel and wander
appearing out of no where to rest in the shade of my sister’s SUV
looking scrappy enough to the point where she can’t even look at me
is she dead?
the indians wonder as they walk by and stare
who cares!
they rightly conclude,
For she is just a Rez dog
and we’re going back to the harbour

The Right Kind of Indian

20 Feb

If I am not, what is the ‘right’ kind of Indian then?

The acceptable Indian vs. the unacceptable Indian

The Indian ghost in the assimilated shell

Haunting myself

Haunting Olympic plaza

I am still there

Floating around
Smelling the cedar that was placed there for us

For protection
By her
Who knew
Long before any of us did
What was to come

Haunting calgary
Haunting remand
Haunting Victim, Pattison, martin
Haunting Primary Investigator, adaikin
Haunting cells
Assimilated jail cells

Holding us in
Holding us under glass

Don’t let us slip out
Don’t let us be free
Don’t let them steal your joy he said

He warned me

I will pray for you

He spoke of the curse

Was assimilation my curse?

Or was it my true Indian-ness?

Not the right kind of Indian I guess.

Not the right kind of assimilated Indian I guess.

Not the right kind.

They have no ears to hear my words though I speak

They have no eyes to see my face though I am looking right at them

They have no hands to shake mine in fellowship

In warmth

In friendship

They would rather put cuffs on my hands

They burnt his.
And cut hers off completely.
They always go after the hands.

I wonder why that is?

No room.
No room for me.
No room for you Sandy.





No room.

No space to share
No space to speak
No space to sit

On a bench

With my feet up

Feeding a duck

Who was hungry

I am not the right kind.

I am the wrong kind.

The wrong kind of Indian.

Maybe they were too

All 50,000 of them

All 500 of them

Maybe WE were the wrong kind of Indian.

When will there be space?
When will there be room?


When will there be hands to shake?

Ears that hear?

Eyes that see?


Is stephen harper the right kind of Indian?

Honoured guest speaker

Or…that’s right…honored “Chief” speaker.

How come I can’t be Chief?

My name is Sarah Marie Scout.
I was born on January 14th, 1981.

If you ask my name

Are you asking to know who I am??

Who are you??