grounding exercise

by Samantha Nock

inhale, 1 2 3 4. exhale, 1 2 3 4.

close your eyes. name five things you can hear.

you hear the cars going down nanaimo st. you hear cats meowing.

you hear your own breathing, the wind through your neighbour’s privacy hedges, a dog barking.

you hear the phone on kokum’s kitchen table ringing louder than any phone has ever rang. you hear
grandpa shuffling cards for another game of solitaire. you hear kokum change the channel to her show.
                   soap opera opening notes fill the house, harmonize with the ringing phone.

name four things you can see.

you see the shed in front of you, the fire pit you sat around every weekend last summer trying to steal a
glance from someone across the flame, knowing it was a waste of time but trying anyway.

you see green grass growing before the snow has even melted back home. you see the bruise on your
knuckle from where you dug your thumbnail into the thin skin to stop from crying in public.

you see the log cabin house your grandpa built your grandma. you see fat bay quarter horses grazing between poplar trees in their front yard. you see the tiny hummingbird nest in your grandma’s
rosebush.

name three things you smell.

you smell fresh cut grass. you smell gasoline. you smell the recycling you forgot to take out two weeks
in a row.

you smell ski-doo exhaust, wood stove smoke, and the smell of folgers coffee filling the small one room
trapper’s cabin.

name two things you can touch.

run your hand over your thigh, feel the texture of cotton denim stretched tight.

run your hand over the chipped paint stairwell you’re standing under.

run your hand over the swayed back of your old saddle horse, the only generous gift from your
stepfather. feel short sorrel hairs poke at your palm. feel every secret your whispered to him in
childhood loneliness.

name one thing you can taste.

you taste the cool toothpaste from this morning. you taste the sharp copper blood from chewing the
same spot on your lip through this grounding exercise.

you taste the metallic bite of roasted elk heart mixed with  sweet huckleberries in late fall. you taste the
end of the hunting season.

inhale, 1 2 3 4. exhale, 1 2 3 4.

wonder if your ancestors knew that when they formed your bones out of moose hide and fireweed,
they were giving birth to you: all skin and soft flesh, all dreams and nightmares.

inhale/exhale.

take time out of worrying about things that aren’t written in the stars to daydream about your
favourite childhood memories. the good ones. like the time you were fishing in the creek with your dad
when you were a kid and for some reason the road was filled with still butterflies. kid brain not
understanding they’re dead. kid brain not seeing the ironic beauty. kid brain only seeing a road full of
butterflies.

remember that time you let yourself float down the currents of the kiskatinaw–never feeling as
beautiful as you did when you let her waters hold your body.

inhale 1 2 3 4, exhale 1 2 3 4.

keep thoughts silent for the time being. close your eyes and remember what it felt like to drive down
back country roads in the middle of the night. the smell of canola through the truck window. dream of
what summer in the north feels like.

remember that you are here, a whole human, who has existed since time immemorial. you are the
coming together of neglected gravel roads and sweet grass.

remember that you are living a life that has been lived before and will be lived again.

all you can hope

is that the next iskwesis remembers the feeling of the kiskatinaw holding her. hope that she remembers
cool northern summer nights. remembers the butterflies. you hope that iskwesis remembers to breathe.

Samantha is a Cree-Métis writer and poet from Treaty 8 territory Northeast BC. Her family originally comes from Ile-a-la-Crosse (Sakitawak), Saskatchewan. She has been published in GUTS Magazine , Shameless Magazine, SAD Mag, Canadian Art, and others. Samantha co-organizes a bi-monthly community readings series called Poetry is Bad For You, and hosts Heavy Content, a podcast exploring representations of fat people in the media. She cares about radical decolonial love, coffee, corgis, and her two cats, Betty and Jughead. Find more of Samantha’s work in the print issue of DREAMS 57.1 and read our past Get to Know interview with her!

Artwork, “Shy,” by Aura. Aura is an Onyota’a:ka (Oneida) artist, currently based in Tkaronto. She graduated from the University of Lethbridge with a BFA (Studio Art) and is a DTATI Candidate. Aura uses mixed media, beadwork, murals, art as healing, and digital Illustration to discuss intergenerational healing, identity, empowerment, and mothering. She looks to community to collectively explore personal storytelling and truth-sharing.