Tuesday, December 03, 2019


I plunge my hands in the soil of my home,
And I grasp at the core of my being.
Always I’m drawn, though I wander and roam,
To the feel of the place I am fleeing.
Although some claim to be autochthonous,
Indigenous, and a true native son;
Earth cannot be owned by any of us,
Though a sense of belonging can be won.
In truth, we but rent the place where we live;
Yeah, even the mortal body we wear!
It seems only right that we ought to give,
A bit of the soil for others to share.
We still will be home, still happy and free,
And a member of a community.

Mick McKellar
December 2019

It seems ludicrous for so many, in a nation of immigrants, to be so enthralled by nativism.


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