Body Work

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