This poem is dedicated to my late Kokom (Grandmother). It is a description of an early time in my life of when I would walk to Kokom’s every day to go to visit. Kokom’s was a place my family often gathered. A Kokom holds a special place in the hearts of many Indigenous people. Kokom is a word that is so respected, and this to be honoured.
“Akwa Kookomiik!” for 25 years, time has been of the essence … I remember walking to Kokom’s. The sun shining so bright on my golden-brown skin. The sparkling river, moving as though in a hurry. The grass, as if dancing with the blowing direction of the summer wind. The little rez dog, playfully right beside me, as though each time a dog assigned itself as my own personal guide to Kokom’s.
“What is Kokom doing? I wonder what she’s cooking? Does she know I’m coming?”
The excitement of arrival takes over my thoughts. The hearty soups she made loaded with wild meat and vegetables. I can see Kokom in her clothes, flowered blouses and flour-stained fancy pants. “Who will be there? Everyone goes to Kokom’s! Patience, you’re almost there.”
I pass the clothesline she’s had all these years, and approach the doorway. I hear familiar laughter, a love of a Cree family. Strong, Cree, and headed by Kokom. “I made it … I’m here… I’m home.”
“Akwa Kookomiik!” for 25 years, how lucky I have been to have said.