Much like my mother -

Much like my mother...

I am much like my mother.

I am much like (my) mother because of her.

I am much like Canada, as well.

- I am much like Canada.

=================

Much like my mother. . .

Canada has always - 

always reminded me of her.

My mother - my Canada.

The difference being that when I see my mother,

Canada does not see me back.

But a lot like mom - 

I make my promise to her I will always do better.

I was born to this land.

This Canada I have been in both my wildest - wildest dream's.

and this land that I haven't given much thought.

==================

This is when I wake up from that nightmare.

==================

I use to have a friend.

We were great friend's.

Jacob.

================

Jacob is his name and Jacob was an indigenous boy.

I never had a thought of him being a bad influence.

We were very innocent - yet very different.

================

I admit my racism.

================

Here is where my mother reminds me of Canada.

From this womb she grew me in.

================

The moment she gave birth - I can hear her.

=================

The cry for life.  Came from out of her mouth.

And into my birth - she gave me her touch.

The first touch of a mother with her first born is.

What is the most intimate moment in gods name.

===============

Much like the art of stone carved indigenous woman. 

My mother reminds me of this work of art,

something I had no idea existed. 

Until the moment I saw her.

=============

It was not too long ago I felt this rebirth.

============

I was called a settler here.

I had never considered that before,

being just a settler.

I didn't like that.  I said.

I was born to this land.

But - you are raised a settler.

============

Here I came from the moment I realized - 

Canada.

============

Canada wasn't only my home.

============

At this moment (take it in. . . )

I - a settler.

==========

Why wasn't I informed of this when I was born.

That beautiful moment my mother met my eyes open.

For the first time I touched her lips (mom felt touching my face.)

==============

It's so quiet here now. . . 

this perfect silence.

Where the ancestors were many - and the settlers were few,

- but in my imagination I am born to this land.

=============

Someone indigenous informed me - 

I can't magically become indigenous. 

==========

This saddened me.

But as I said earlier on.

I am (not) racist.  Because - 

because the racist in me has always been silently treated.

============

Being born to this land is a way I can imagine being.

Being born again and again and again,

the greatest of rebirth's.

==========

Coming in the form of my mother and her womb.

============

That's what Canada reminds me of.  

===========

Indigenous lovers.

White settlers.

And my mother.

(end.) 

Marco Almeida © 2025