body/ work
i am a work interrupted
by a colonial gaze
by a colonial violence
by a colonial law
born into a system I did not consent to
a system future generations don’t consent to
yet tied to
we know
will die to
your language is undoing while your prisons are doing
brothers cuffed to slave labour
economic boom to bust
hands built to carve wood
now rest
wrapped around steele bars
the options of a colonial body
a choice
the options of a colonised body
don’t exist
i am fauna, i am flora
i am dirt and dust and water and rock
trauma within the land, is trauma within the body
work needs the body
the body needs work, work for the body
the colony’s body needs work, our bodies work for the colony
a body in need of freedom
a body in need to be moved by the seasons and winds
a natural force of modality, moves my gravity
the body needs freedom
freedom needs work, freedom needs the body to work
did we have a word for freedom before enslavement?
i often think about what resting would feel like
because when i open my eyes every morning i already feel the weight of knowing
but i still have questions
what is the bush medicine to heal wounds inflicted by the colony?
will we seek to stop waves, that poverty product drift on?
how much wood would i need to burn their buildings down?
a body so badly bruised from working on the mines, he now works with a numb arm
a numb neck. my uncle.
can you replace the pain with new pain
good pain
feel good pain?
like fuckable pain
like ride that dick pain
don’t fuck with white dick pain.
i sat with a student of mine, we cried about chronic disease
within our families
our tears fuelled by sadness
grief and frustration.
sadness for there is no escape
frustrated that the colony still has such deep roots into our existence, our bodies.
i wanna float like whites girls on Instagram, eating vegans diets, eating blueberries in the sunlight
it all starts with a glass of warm water.
i can’t find calm in my body, as there is no calm in the land, not even my instagram is calm, flooded with news of another death in custody, two deaths, a rally, four deaths, a memorial, five deaths, another funeral, four hundred and something deaths.
i float in grief.
- Dominic Guerrera