On Disturbed Ground (2012) - was a collaboration project with Cori McWilliams and the Native Project of
Machines (2011) - Was a collaboration project with Robert Wriggly curated by the Northwest Museum of Art and Culture Territory: Generational Triptychs.
The theory was that the sea might be emptied
in which swam those who neither possessed
nor aspired to power. The theory was a country
could become a factory through which were processed
those whose lives might by their very being
threaten those whose being required the deaths of others.
The theory was that walking, breathing, and seeing
were crimes for all men and children and mothers
who had walked, breathed, and seen in the shadow
of those who understood the dangers posed
by such living. The theory was that the shadow
was light, and that walking, breathing, and seeing by those
who neither possessed nor aspired to power could be,
by those possessing power, terminated with impunity.
2. Engine, Factory, Fuel
It’s a boneyard, an ossuary, a massive death engine
orbiting a star. For its number of dead being equal to all
that have lived—trees, birds, every man and woman
being and having been in the beginning a child—
it is a factory of death in the name of its being alive,
and its living are the fuel of its ongoing survival.
Only here and there, certain cottage industries thrive:
extirpation, eradication, erasure. Interests tribal,
certainties of the blood, stockholders political:
and the processes of earthly existence are increased,
augmented, speeded up. A face becomes heretical,
a place is damned, and of all others, some are least.
Then the earth accepts everything it is given,
and becomes a hell, which might have been heaven.
How the bones unfleshed interlock, and the lost
thereby become indistinguishable from others.
How the skulls of Cambodia resemble most
the skulls of Guatemala, and Rwandan mothers
become the mothers of the dead who are also dead
in Bosnia, their arms of bone around the bones
of their children, among the bones that are buried
with them. How they’re crowds, citizens, towns.
How the bones of a cousin, by a young girl,
are covered by a plain handkerchief of white.
How she wanted him “dressed” for next world,
before the tiny pine box was sealed tight.
How we would rather not know, how everything known
is not in the earth, and how earth is not yet another bone.