The Red Files. Lisa Bird-Wilson

turns and runs to see who has come

      This Day

      the Cree child, kâ-nêwonâskatêw’s grandson, works

      at perfecting his one hard line

      on the board: I will not speak Indian anymore

      one hundred times

      and the girl with the shy smile makes hand stitches

      tiny staccato notes a cryptic code no one can crack

      white thread on white cotton apron invisible

      messages for each girl to carry close to her heart as she works

      from one side of her day to the other

      Miss Blinkensop and her camera set to capture the mundane

      moments as obscene as the sun through the south window

      Baby Thomas coaxes a smile out of the headmaster’s wife

      bangs his chubby fists on the table, tripwires her severity

      when he grabs her hand in his strong baby grip

      and pulls it to his mouth