Waddamoolli
Emily McConnell
"White Girl, Looking In"
White girl, looking in
as through a clouded glass
at the beautiful Black women
while the sun glints on their burnished skin
and smiles on their joy
and love
White girl, looking in
hear the rhythmic beat
of many clapsticks pulsing from a single heart
waddamoolli, they sing
welcome, welcome
waddamoolli to the girl looking in
come and sing with us
kick up the dust
dance with the beautiful, womanly ones
the ones who gave birth to the world
who know the Mother's secrets
come, come, come
waddamoolli
welcome
"Corroboree"
Come, my children,
Come to the fire.
Fire children, dance for me
When my old bones lie in the tree
And my name is like ash,
Filled with fire spirits.
Stamp, my children,
Stamp your feet.
Fire sons, raise the dust
While I sit with the women
And let the heat run through my bones
Like it used to
When I was one of you.
Sing, my children,
Sing your joy.
Celebrate life with voices
And laughter.
Sing for the tree that bore you,
The tree that holds you,
The tree that will keep you.
Love, my children,
Love all your brothers,
Black and white and colors of dust,
All who gather here to
Come, Stamp their feet, Sing.
Love with the spirits,
Love with your tree mother,
Love with the fire,
And come dance with me.
"Eagle Man Dancer"
The first time we danced, you were mine.
You danced with the power of the eagle,
The rushing wind in your feet,
The open skies cradled in your palms.
When you came to me,
The eagle came too,
And his shadow fell across our bodies
And I smiled because I knew
He came for you.
The eagle followed your hunt,
Blessed it from the arms of Sky Father.
The eagle greeted our son
And you painted it on his body
When he became a man.
The eagle came for you
And watched our dance.
But then you left,
And the eagle left with you,
Painted on your bones,
Buried in your tree.
He no longer cries over your body,
And mine,
Because the eagle in your heart stopped beating
His wings,
Your pulse.
And without you, Eagle Man Dancer,
I dance no more.
This poem is for "Auntie" Liz Johnson, artist, elder of her people, and a hero in every way.
"Yellow, Black, and Red"
You, Earth Mother, keeper of life,
Your children decorate your body
In yellow, black, and red.
The yellow sun is your daughter,
And the dried grass on the billabong,
Quiet, with a current underneath.
Water woman, emu woman,
The black-skinned children are yours,
And the charcoal in the fire that gives life,
Burning with the steady flame of your soul.
Mother woman, Murri woman,
The red in the ground loves your footprint,
And the dust in the air as you kick it up,
Breathing the life-spirits into you,
You, Water Mother, giver of life.
I, Child Mother, singer of life,
I have no inheritance in my body
Of yellow, black, and red.
But the yellow sun warms my white skin,
And there is dried grass, too,
In my mother's land.
Mountain Woman, dog-tree woman,
Your black-skinned children I'll love,
And the black dried blood on my thighs
From white-skinned babies yet to come.
Child woman, white-skinned woman,
The red in your ground is not mine,
Like the red desert of my land,
Stretching from horizon to sun.
I, White Mother, lover of life.
You, Black Mother, lover of life.
Our yellow sun is the same,
And the black night's sky filled with dotted stars,
And the red blood that runs through your heart,
And the same blood that runs through mine.
Sister woman, Aboriginal woman,
Your yellow, black, and red
Are your gift to me,
And this, white paper with black words,
This is my gift to you,
Black White Mothers, livers of life.
