Markham Creates

Submission 1 - Jennie Belaiev

Artist Name: Jennie Belaiev Title: Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: Art is a great love of mine. It's a way to deal with difficult issues, a meditation and a tool to reflect on things that trouble me. Since the whole COVID saga began, I have been trying to brighten my daughter's spirit with a weekly surprise artwork.

ELVIS - Agnes Bae

Artist Name: Agnes Bae Title: ELVIS Medium: Acrylic/Oil Artist Statement: Agnes has been a very specializing in expressive , colorful paintings in film based on true story and wants to sublimate it aesthetically through the contemporary art work

Forced Cat Snuggles - Linda Kalianteris Picerno

Artist Name: Linda Kalianteris Picerno Title: Forced Cat Snuggles Medium: Oil Artist Statement: I am a portrait painter, and I love adding brilliant light and colour to my work. While I paint many things, there is something fascinating about capturing someones essence in oil paint. My goal is to be a full time artist, sharing my work with the world.

Semi-Self Portrait - Harry Yan

Artist Name: Harry Yan Title: Semi-Self Portrait Artist Statement: I'm an 11 year old with an infinite love of drawing. Apart from drawing, I also like coding, gaming, and reading LOTS of books.

Submission 1 - Oriana Zhou

Artist Name: Oriana Zhou Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: I create art because I enjoy creating art. I painted these specific works because plants and buildings are my favourite things to draw. In my art, I want to communicate that art is something that should bring people joy and make others happy.

Joy Fenske - Collection of Bells

The collection of about 500 bells was started in 1993. (Reduced from about 800) The oldest dates back to 1902 commemorates the Coronation of King Edward VII

Frances Yoong

There are 89 flowers here. Since the emergency order started on March 17 in Ontario, I crochet a flower for each day we stay home until now. I feel like we have to do something to remember this difficult time in 2020.

Dhara Bharanitharan

My kids made me admire at you...beauty in its own way.

Chloe Lee

Frances Yoong

There are 89 flowers here. Since the emergency order started on March 17 in Ontario, I crochet a flower for each day we stay home until now. I feel like we have to do something to remember this difficult time in 2020.

Beneath the Tree - Rachel Souza

Artist Statement: I fell in love with creative writing at a very young age. I began to take classes at the Markham Public Library when I was 10 to gain technical skills but I’ve always been a natural storyteller. In university I began screenwriting and everything I’ve written since reads like a movie. In this piece, I hope to capture the essence of being a high school aged kid in Markham. I wanted to write something for teens and young adults, something they can greatly relate to. My goal is always for someone to be able to connect with my work and know they are never alone in any given situation. Beneath the Tree by Rachel Souza (Based on true events) Familiar faces line the walls but names escape me. Names I thought I would remember into my 60s but somehow have already fallen out of my mind. 4 years away from the city I have grown up in, and 4 years away from classmates I told I would never forget, yet both the city and the faces are unrecognizable. Maybe I am too. When I left for school across the country I thought my time in Markham was done. I thought that I would catch a break into the industry and never look back. I thought I was the exception to the rule. I wasn’t. Instead I’m thrown back into the chaotic, drama-filled world of a Markham District houseparty. My mind starts to race. She was in my geography - no history class I think, or maybe it was science. He lent me a dollar for one of the large cafeteria cookies one time, or maybe it was him? Through the friendly “hellos’” and the well-intentioned “you look greats’!”, I knew who I was looking for, the 5 names I could remember and will likely never forget. Kristy, Maya, Wren, Stephen and Burton. “The Fantastic Five”, my mom would call them. I first met the group when I was only 14, an age where friends are your only concern and you naturally believe the false truth that these people will be by your side forever. We all thought we knew about forever, and maybe they still do. Everything still reminds me of them. If I drive past a skate park I’m instantly brought to Centennial watching Burton drop in on his skateboard for the first time, Maya by his side cheering and denying cigarettes over and over from the others gathered on the park benches. She was never one to fall to peer pressure, and always one to speak her mind. Kirsty was always there to listen. A leader and follower at the same time. The type of friendship you see on a movie screen of a shifting dynamic, balanced and self aware. The song Wonderwall begins to blast through the party speakers. The people surrounding belt out every lyric. I think of Wren and Stephen and how often they would break out the guitar and keyboard and play that song in specific. Campfires at Stephen’s were never without music and Wren never left home without a six string by his side. I wonder if they think about me. I was an addition to their group and my subtraction was sudden. I didn’t even say goodbye, not because I didn’t want to but because it was too hard. Without an explanation I’m sure my own erasure took me off their minds as well. I know I want to see them but I expect no friendly welcome. I push past two girls laughing over the old Markham yearbook, the one with the heat sensitive cover, I wonder if I still have mine in storage. I catch bits of conversation between friends reliving memories, “We would walk to Tims in like negative 40 degree weather every single lunch” “Why was our prom Peter Pan themed?” “Remember that incredibly annoying song they’d play to get us to go to class?” I laugh to myself thinking of every time I hit play on that song and watched people groan as they reluctantly slammed their lockers shut and scurried to their homerooms. I turn to enter the living room and am greeted by Maya leaping into my arms and screeching louder than the party playlist. I embrace her and exhale realizing some things haven’t changed a bit. The others offer their hellos and Burton comments that I’m still late to everything. “It’s the time difference” I joke. Stephen hands me a red solo cup and it begins to truly feel normal. No mention of my absence, it’s as if it never happened. We sit in a circle on the floor of the living room. “Just like under the tree-” “Beside the meandering trail.” I chime in as I finish Wren’s sentence. We all smile and reminisce in silence, only for Kristy to break it a moment later. “I hated running that trail.” “That’s why I never took fitness” A half truth as I also never cared for the terrible smell of the weight room. Silence weighs on us once again, this was unique to the present. In high school I could never even get a word in over the constant banter of the guys, it was unusual but not uncomfortable. I open my mouth to speak but instead Stephen’s words come out. “You guys really want this to feel like old times, let’s play never have I ever.” I roll my eyes in protest, but the others shrug and hold up ten fingers to play. “Seriously?” I groan, and raise my hands to join in. “Everyone remembers how to play? We go around and you say something you’ve never done, if you have done it, you put down a finger. First to have all 10 fingers down, has to complete a dare from the rest of the group.” Stephen explains and we all nod in agreement. “I’ll start,” he continues. “Never have I ever drank from the water fountain next to the gym that always said it needed to have its filter changed.” We all giggle and put down a finger, except Stephen. “Seriously man, you’re telling me you never refilled your bottle there?” Burton questioned. “Of course not, you don’t know what dirt could be in that water.” “Well we’re all still here so clearly it was fine!” Maya retaliated. “Okay me next. Never have I ever attempted to get onto the roof of the Markham Public Library.” The boys all give each other a look and put a finger down. “Well I would say it was more of a thought than an attempt.” Wren tries to explain. “But fine, well take that one. Now, never have I ever been to the Mcdonalds off of 16th after 2am.” Everyone except Wren sighs and bends another finger down. “Finally my Mom wanting me to be home at a reasonable hour is paying off.” “I don’t know about that, we had some good times.” Kristy added, and she wasn’t wrong. “My turn. Never have I ever performed at the school’s cabaret.” She looks directly at the guys. “Hey! We were good!” Wren shouted. “You were called The Local Band, as I recall?” I chuckled as I said the name. “Well, we were local and a band, there really isn’t a more fitting name.” “And The Local Band does not appreciate being targeted in this game!” Burton protested. “So here’s some payback, never have I ever gotten kicked out of Toys R Us in the mall for trying to ride one of the bikes.” The three girls relinquish a finger. “Oh come on, we were 13 and I ended up working there and being the person who kicks out 13 year olds for riding on the bikes.” I responded. “Yeah and we all thought you’d never quit that job!” Kristy jested. “Well I’m thinking of going back this summer…” They all rolled their eyes and I beamed at how normal this all felt. The light jabs at one another, the way we all giggled at every joke, it was a feeling I had missed for 4 years. We kept going around and around, reminiscing with each statement, memories stored in the back bookshelves of my brain that I hadn’t checked out in years, all flowing back. These 5 people had gone through everything with me, but that wasn’t just the ups, also the downs. “Becca, your turn.” I snap back to the moment and smile to myself. “Never have I ever, had a crush on someone in this friend group.” “Wait, I thought you had to say something you’ve never done!” Burton quickly countered. Everyone else had already placed a finger down and stared at me smirking. “It is something I’ve never done!” A blatant lie, maybe to myself. I laughed hoping the group would brush it off. But, the one thing I had forgotten about this group is they never let something go and they held grudges, maybe because they were angry or maybe because the grudges were the last threads holding a once close knit group together. “You’re really going to sit there and lie to us?” Maya responded. I sit and shrug as Burton shoots me a look. The truth was that Burton was the lie, and it was an unspoken deal with the group that it would never be mentioned. That is until this moment where Maya couldn’t hold it any longer. “If you’re seriously gonna play that way then never have I ever stolen someone in the group's boyfriend!” Everyone stares at me, I’m sure my mouth has fallen open, but in the moment the shock clouds my actions. I give in and put a finger down. “Exactly.” Maya continues. “And while we’re at it, never have I ever forgotten to decorate any of our lockers for our birthdays” I let another finger fall to my palm as Maya’s voice begins to escalate louder and louder. I can feel the eyes of onlookers burning my skin as I turn red and sweat forms beneath my hair. “And never have I ever ditched our daily lunch plans just to get closer with a boy who wasn’t even right for you!” I feel moisture build on my eyelid. I let another finger fall as more people gather around. Maya is standing now, towering over me as the others just sit in agreement, not defending, why should they? I realize I only have one finger remaining and I knew Maya had one last statement to bring it down, making me the loser of more than just the game. “Never have I ever left without saying goodbye.” A statement I was not ready to hear and they hadn’t accepted. Tears began to fall and my anger builds. I had no right to be the angered one but I was also the type to fight back. I put my finger down, looked Maya dead in the eyes and replied, “Hope it hurts just as much the second time.” And with that I got up and stormed out of the party, slamming the door behind me. I feel the shock of every watcher, unknowing of the pain behind any remark, only there for the drama, like a school play intertwined with the party. I wasn’t ready to leave again. I wasn’t ready to miss another 4 years but I had no reason to return. I sat on the front stairs waiting for a sign to go back in. I look down to see a light haired boy sitting on the front lawn alone. “Jason?” I called to him. I hadn’t thought about Jason in years. He looks up and smiles, I smile back remembering how kind he was to everyone in high school. He joins me on the stairs and offers me another drink, I decline knowing it would only fuel my anger. “What are you doing out here?” He asks. “I could ask you the same.” But I knew why. He was always one to know when to take a break, something I could never learn. “Just to cool off, you know how parties get.” “Well if I didn’t before, I definitely do now.” I respond. We sit in awkward silence for a moment, waiting for the other to make small talk. “So how was BC?” he says, finally breaking the silence. “Honestly, lonely.” And it was. I forgot how hard it is to make friends when you don’t know a single person. I was so used to having a group of friends beside me, using their friendship with me to bond with others. “You must be excited to be back then.” He responds and I ponder this for a second. “I was. But 4 years is a long time. You know, it’s like watching a movie for the second time, after you haven’t seen it in years. The first time, it’s exciting and you’re so engaged, everything seems like magic on the screen. But then, when you go back to rewatch years later, it’s not the same, because you’re not the same. You connect to it in different ways and maybe it wasn’t always as great as you remember. But you still want to watch it.” “Is that what they taught you in film school?” He jokes. I giggle but he can see the sadness behind it. “But you’re wrong.” he continues. “Yes, you’ve changed, but the movie hasn’t. You may have a different connection to it, but it’s still a connection at the end of the day. You just have to find what you always loved about it and find the connection through that.” “Were you always this smart?” I respond playfully. “I mean I was top of our class.” “Well, if you’re going to be okay out here, I have some unfinished conversations inside. But do you maybe want to grab coffee sometime and catch up for real?” “For sure.” He responds. I get up and re-enter the party. As I squeeze through crowds I can hear people’s whispers, and this time, not about past memories. This time I choose not to fight. As I approach the group, they pretend as if I don’t exist, continuing their conversation without even glancing at me. My hand begins to tremble as my anxiety builds but I know this is my last chance at redemption. “Hey.” I say as I try to get their attention. Still no response. I wait a moment then finally think of the only thing that will get their attention. “Well, I lost the game, so I still have to complete a dare.” Maya finally turns to me. “Fine. I dare you to tell this whole party what a terrible friend you’ve been to us.” She states. “I’m not going to do that…” I begin to respond but Kristy cuts in. “Then you can go.” She says bluntly. “But I will make the speech to you guys.” Maya is about to cut me off when Burton steps in. “Okay, we’re listening.” He says. I sigh of relief and try to gather everything I need to say. “I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t want it to be a goodbye.” I begin. “When I moved across the country, my new dorm wasn’t home. When I returned to Markham, it still didn’t feel like home. But when I walked into this party and Maya wrapped her arms around me, that was home. I know we are all different people now and maybe I’ve changed the most, but how I felt when we were all just sitting here chatting, that was the same. It made me realize home is not a house, or a city, it’s where the people you love are, no matter where in the world that is. I know, I should’ve said goodbye and none of this excuses that. But it was too hard. Again that’s not an excuse and I’ll do anything to make it up to you guys. I just really hope you’re willing to give me another chance.” By the last few words my face was soaked in tears and I could see Maya wiping her eyes too. “We just missed you so much and it hurt.” She finally chimes in. “I know, it hurt me too and I’m so sorry. Sometimes I wish I never left. And sometimes, I know it sounds crazy, but i just wish we were back in high school, sitting under that stupid tree and eating overprided cafeteria food.” “Who says that has to stop?” Wren says. “Let’s go.” “What? Where?” I ask. “To the tree. Right now. Let’s leave this party and do what we do best, nothing.” The others begin to smile and without a word we collectively get up, put on our jackets and exit the party. We walk through the dark streets, the boys speeding down the hills on their longboards. Everything feels like it's in slow motion. A montage of sorts. We’re all silent, taking in the night and enjoying a walk we’ve done thousands of times before. We finally arrive at the school and find the tree, still large and full with its summer blossoms. We sit beneath it, still no one has said a word. Instead, Wren pulls out his six string and begins to pluck a tune we all knew too well. The crisp night air is filled with music once again. I was home.

Markham - Fiona Liu

Markham Written By: Fiona Liu Markham is a great, and extraordinary municipality to live in! Living in a community that is filled with caring and friendly citizens is the best! Why? Well, I admire how concerned citizens get when someone is hurt or when their loved ones get sick. I appreciate how the teachers at school are always there for us when we are feeling down. Moving on, I love how health care workers are there for you when you’re health Is in bad Shape. Thank you for your help! Furthermore, I love how quickly the emergency office reacts to your call when you need their help. One reason I enjoy living in Markham is because of how kind and helpful the mayor is. But the real reason is how my friends at school and outside of the school are always there for me whenever I need their help. As you can see, there are many different reasons why Markham is a fine place to live in!

Quarantine - Manmeet Narang

Quarantine A thread must be stuck there As I walked away I began to unravel When I reached here I found my body and soul torn and ripped. The silhouette of the leaves on the curtain danced on the wall in the yellow glow of the rising sun. But Navneet’s eyes remained still.Every morning she sat there facing the wall sipping her morning tea while the day announced its coming.There were days when the wall remained blank, its white face staring back at her. “I am running late, mom.Have you packed my lunch?,” Priti fumbled through her new school bag. “It is all done. Check the kitchen shelf,” Navneet’s eyes had still not moved. But she knew she will have to lift herself up soon.Eggs had to be scrambled, bread to be toasted, fruit to be packed for Angad and maybe even for Aman. The sound of the garage told her that they were gone and now she could have the walls to herself.She adjusted the clipboard on her lap and began to write. This isn’t me Who stares from the window all day This isn’t me Who searches a known face walking by This isn’t me Who feels this blue sky is not mine I still live there Somewhere in the by-lanes of my country This is someone else Who stares from the window all day. Another hour to go before Priti would return. She found it strange that secondary schools here in Canada had a shorter day than the elementary schools.Navneet looked over her shoulder as if to call her helper Usha who had cooked and cleaned for them for more than ten years back in India.She kept looking into the corridor before dragging herself to the kitchen. Wiping the kitchen shelf clean, she placed the utensils she had diligently washed one by one.The rest she stacked in the dishwasher.Its whirling sound was the only sound in the house now.By the time her daughter returned, she had neatly combed her hair and readied some hot bread and cottage cheese. First the sweatshirt, then the windcheater and finally the bulky winter jacket. Now the long winter shoes, gloves and woollen cap.This would be enough to block the cold out during the ten minute walk to Angad’s elementary school.It had been just over a month she landed in Markham from India.It would be a while before she would get her driving license. Markham, a city in Ontario, somewhere near Toronto. A name she had never heard all her life and now she had been uprooted from her home in New Delhi and planted there.Friends had sent her encouraging messages calling her a seed who would grow in any soil. But where was the soil where she would grow in? She had been buried in snow. While Angad played video games and Priti was glued to the laptop, Navneet made her second cup of tea.Her mind was going over the vegetables lying in the refrigerator and deciding so as to what she would cook today. That is how the months passed.The day began with staring at the empty walls and ended with staring into the void.Only the date on the calender changed. Well, the menu changed.The name of the movies and Netflix shows changed.Clothes changed. Other than that, there was no distinction of one day from the next. Navneet was in quarantine. Her only escape was her poetry.She often stepped on words to fly away to her homeland and take a whiff of petrichor, of the curry, of her friends, of the memories of forty years.Other than that she was in lockdown, partial though.She made trips with Aman to buy the essentials and then on her own once the driving license arrived. There was no need of a mask.She had so many layers on her face now that she could not recognize herself. She had been maintaining the social distance.No one had put up boards of instructions but something had told her to stay away. On a cold but sunny December afternoon while walking towards her son’s school, she heard the wind carry music with it.It grew louder as she walked further.She slowed down her pace.She wanted the music to last forever.A petite woman was playing saxophone inside her garage.Without knowing, Navneet almost stopped outside lost in the moment of music slicing through the cold air.But very soon her brain started to scold her. You cannot be standing here, outside someone’s garage,listening to someone’s private music. While her heart gently rubbed her back nudging her to say- Go hug her, say that her music is beautiful, that it is the best thing you have experienced ever since you landed here in Canada in the month of October. Navneet started to walk again.Her brain gave her a pat telling her she did the right thing while her heart shut its eyes and sat down in a dark corner.Tears were stinging her eyes.She found it difficult to breathe, as if the walls of her home had come after her and were now caving on her. May this road someday Take me to those roads I left behind On this road clad in snow May those yellow spring flowers bloom again. How long can water remain standing still.It must flow downhill or become a waterfall to climb down and meet the ocean. It did not happen in one day. It is tough to put your finger when and where. Like that one dry brown maple leaf that holds on to the branch, Navneet began to hold to one thing each day.May be it began with the bunch of sunny yellow flowers she gifted herself after doing grocery or may be when she bought her first lipstick from the mall or may be it was when the cinnamon roll she bought melted in her mouth.Or was it when she found even Zoe, a staff member at the community library, loved picture books by Oliver Jeffers.They had vigorously nodded their heads in agreement how picture books were meant as much for adults as for children.Or may be it was that morning when the clouds wearing a crimson carpet appeared like six steps to heaven.Navneet stood there smiling from behind the window, her blank eyes full of colour of joy. “Priti! Angad! Let’s go buy a Christmas Tree!” Angad came down running in his night pyjamas. “Really? Today?” She lifted him in arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. The day would likely go down in the History of Singh household when all four fingers pointed towards the same Christmas Tree.No questions, no arguments.They laughed in unison while moving on to find the right wreath and ornaments.Priti, the walking encyclopedia of the family, had made a mental list of everything she wanted to go up on the tree.Navneet was happy to see her smiling after days. Together they constructed the four-feet-tall tree.First went the ornaments, then the lights and finally the garland around the branches. Priti lifted her long arms to put the golden star at the top while Angad placed the nutcracker at the bottom.The tree looked full and glowing.They sat down under it in their new Christmas sweaters and clicked a family picture. “Now what?” Navneet asked the kids. “What now?” Angad looked confused. From the corner of the eye they saw a fancy pack lying on the shelf. “A gingerbread house!” screamed both of them. As the four of them glued the gingerbread with the icing to construct the candy house it seemed they were building their own little world, step by step. “Look at that one.What a lovely house!” Navneet pointed out as they drove through Markham on Christmas eve looking around at bright lights and decorated homes. “Reindeer! Two of them, one blue and red!” Angad was her only companion in moments like these.Priti was only interested in her coffee and Aman was quiet as always. “Wow! Mom, so many peppermint sticks in their yard.I saw them at the store.I want these lights in my garden too,” Angad was leaning forward, stretching the seat belt a little too much. “Let’s do that next year. For now, Christmas celebration is over.” Aman replied. He glanced at Navneet who had stopped smiling. “They say it gets lonely after Christmas,” Navneet whispered. “Navi, be here in the moment.Don’t think what will happen next, “Amanjeev gently placed his hand on hers. When was the last he had done that.Years ago.She remembered vividly when it had happened the first time.They had been newly engaged. Aman had picked her from home.She had worn a pink suit and silver earrings.He had squeezed her hand and then entwined his fingers in hers while driving.But when was the last time he had held her hand, she could not recall. “That means we will remove the Christmas Tree tomorrow?” Angad’s words jolted her out of her thoughts. “No, Angad.The tree will remain there as long as want.We will keep the lights on, every night,” Navneet looked over her shoulder and smiled. It was during one such long drive, they discovered the hamlet of Unionville.Like the Christmas Tree at home that still stood in the corner, the big snowman stood outside an exotic boutique that said ‘Lost wives found here’. Two big glittery gift boxes shone outside a jewellery shop.It was the sight of the quaint railway station that made Navneet stop.She found herself among all those people who may have travelled from one place to another in search of home.They would know how it felt.Waiting at the platform, unwilling to leave and unable to stay.This is where she had found herself . Aman had been offered a position by his company in a project in Toronto and within months everything had been put aside to board the plane across the Pacific Ocean.During the 24 hour long journey how Navneet kept pinching herself in hope that she would wake up to find it was just a bad dream.That she would find herself among blaring horns on a sultry morning to reach the school where she taught English language and creative writing to students.Then sit over a cup of coffee with Mona after that.How they could talk non-stop! Sunday she would go to her favourite artisans market with Alka and Manvi and enjoy the hot pakoras*.Mom would pack methi paranthas** and send them over with the driver. Sitting in one of the bakeries,Navneet went over moments of her past life. She looked around at the present, a faint smile spreading on her face.The wooden bench, the aroma of the coffee, the girl making fresh chocolate, Unionville made her feel warm, just like home.Just a different kind of home. Navneet scribbled the word ‘home’ on the paper napkin and folded it. Holding it tightly in her hand she walked out of the bakery to stop by at a park by the name of ‘Too Good Pond’. The sight of the flowing stream made her close her eyes in disbelief.Snow that had turned ice was now melting under the sun, just like her own heart that had turned cold over these past months.She rested her arms on the railing of the bridge to listen to the music of the flowing water. There is an old saying by a Sufi saint which a Mughal emperor once borrowed to describe the beauty of Kashmir, a province in northern most part of India. “If there is heaven on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here…” Navneet’s lips were whispering the same couplet as her eyes wandered around the pond and the trees that engulfed it.She felt like she was in Kashmir and not in a park of Markham.Now it was not only her poetry.She also had the streams, the trees, the ponds, the wooden fences, the birds, the letter boxes, the creepers climbing towards roof tops.She felt as if she wasn’t alone anymore. Even though the fingers through the thick gloves could not feel his flesh, Navneet felt the warmth in her veins as Aman held her hand every weekend and they drove to their favourite park for a morning stroll.Now there were two cups of morning tea, placed next to each other with some cookies kept on an ink blue platter. “Remember when we left the kids at home and checked into this resort near Bharatpur Sanctuary*** for a day.It had rained all night and a cold gentle breeze blew.We sipped warm tea just like we do today,” Aman looked so relaxed. “That was six years ago.Now we don’t need to take a day off or go far.Nature is right outside our home.It’s all around us,” Navneet was smiling. “And we have the time to enjoy it and enjoy it together,” Aman softly patted her cheek. She kept looking into the glass tea mugs.The tea was gone and now sunlight was pouring into the cups. For days Navneet ignored the volunteer form Angad had brought home from school.But she didn’t throw it either. What if the children don’t get my accent? For God’s sake what if I don’t understand what they say? She had noticed the word ‘welcome’ was written at the reception of Angad’s elementary school in nine different languages.Out of which she could clearly make out Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu and of course English. That was a comforting and assuring sight.Yet there were fears that held her back. “Miss Navneet, you have a fairly long experience with children and I believe you are an avid reader yourself.I am very happy that you wish to volunteer in our school and support children in reading,” Miss Sofos tossed aside her curly hair as she spoke. Navneet managed a smile, unable to take in the warmth coming from the person whom she was meeting the first time. “We usually expect volunteers to stack books in library or accompany us on day trips, but I think we can use few hours of your expertise ,” Miss Sofos said taking out some books.Step by step she explained the reading program to her. Navneet looked at herself in the mirror. Five months- October to February. I had forgotten what it is like to get up in the morning, dress up and look forward to something. Taking a deep breath outside the main door, she stepped inside the school wishing herself good luck.It felt awkward to walk the corridors.Her palms were sweaty and her legs felt a bit wobbly.She found herself looking for Angad even though he had given instructions to steer clear of the corridor of fifth graders. But at this point of time, a familiar face would comfort her.Little did she know another face awaited her and would bring her something beyond comfort. The moment 9-year-old Ryan sat next to her in the library and opened the book ‘The Magic Key’, everything dissolved.She forgot that she was now in Markham and not in Delhi.That her accent was different from him.That she belonged to a culture poles apart from his.Between Ryan and herself was just a thin book and a huge possibility. Ryan refused to sit still.He yawned and scratched the back of his arm. Just two pages of reading and he refused to go beyond.Navneet tried pointing towards the sight words but he said they bored him.He was unable to register the same word even if he had read it on the previous page.The next day was no better. “This is turning out to be tougher than I had thought,” Navneet expressed to Miss Sofos after trying for a week. “We need to be creative with kids.Let’s think about how we can teach him so that he can learn. Try changing the book or the way of teaching. Don’t lose heart, Miss Navneet.Take it up as a challenge,” Miss Sofos encouraged and shared her stories of struggle with kids. On her way out, Navneet bumped into the principal of the school. “Good morning, Miss Navneet!I am so happy to see you volunteer at our school.Thank you for giving your time.” she extended her hand. Navneet blushed as she shook hands.She had not realized until now that her time was valued. “How is your son adjusting in the school?” “He is doing much better, Miss Angel.Yet to make friends but his teachers are very supportive,” Navneet smiled. “Give yourself few months, I am sure things will begin to look up.Let me know if I can support in any way.” This time Navneet extended her hand and thanked her. She walked towards the exit feeling important and respected. Navneet lay down on the bed, scenes with Ryan flashing on the ceiling.She had the weekend in between before making a fresh start in the coming week. No, he wasn’t being lazy.No, he wasn’t being difficult.No, he will be willing to learn if he begins to enjoy.Yes, I need to make it fun for him. Fun. On Monday, Ryan was surprised to see the blank table. “Are we not reading today?” Ryan asked gloomily. “No.We are going to do something else,” Navneet smiled. From behind she picked up the box of blocks she had borrowed from Miss Sofos and placed it front of him.Ryan’s lips made a big ‘O’ before excitedly lifting the lid of the green box. Taking one block after another, he placed his finger on the manual and decided to make the big fish.The two big antennae on its head was his own idea. Upon finishing, Ryan gave the fish one good look and then lifted it up with pride to show it to her. Navneet smiled at him and gently placed the drawing book in front of him. “Ryan, why don’t you describe your lovely fish?” With a blue sketch pen, Ryan began writing in a mix of capital and small letters. mY FIsH Is FAT IT HAs TO IEs IT HAs A FIN He put the pen down and began adjusting the antennae. “What is the name of your fish?” Navneet brought her face a bit closer. Ryan’ eyes lit up at the idea.He laughed He picked up a red sketch pen and scribbled. HER NAME Is JoJo “Where is her home?” He laughed again, “In the pond at the back of my home!” “Does she talk?” Ryan laughed at Navneet’s question. With a green sketch pen, he wrote. sHE sAYs I AM HuNGRI Together they walked up to the centre of the library towards one of the bookshelves.Navneet placed Jojo along with Ryan’s drawing book which carried the five-line description.Three feet tall Ryan stood there looking his work, his eyes dancing and shining.Navneet asked him if he would like a picture with his work. He giggled.With his chin up, he stood next to Jojo and made a pose. “Thank you, Ryan!” Navneet held out her hand. Ryan had no clue why Miss Navneet was thanking him. Even Navneet had not known when she had begun that the possibility of making a difference was not going to be one sided. Before schools shut in April due to Covid-19, Ryan had begun to read fluently.He continued to dismantle and make new kinds of fish with the blocks.He still mixed up capital and small letters.His spelling was still jumbled up. But he never missed spotting the same words. Navneet still got confused at the roundabouts and could not make out the difference between one house from another. But she continued to explore nature, write poetry, build relationships, her new home and most of all herself. The quarantine was over. In fog one cannot see Except a few steps Standing at the door The heart trembles Asks you to go in And not step out Fate is decided there and then Right there at the threshold of home There is nothing called destiny. *Pakoras is a traditional Indian dish made by frying cauliflower or potato in oil and is served with tangy sauce. **Methi parantha is a hot bread popular in Punjabi households. ***Bharatpur is a bird sanctuary about four hours from Delhi, India.

Windigo: Hunter of the Outsider: A Critical Examination of Race in the City of Markham - Tahira Kassam

Artist’s Statement: I am an aspiring Author from Markham, Ontario. I started writing because I want to bring attention to important issues that face our communities, and I enjoy combining real subjects such as race and gender with fantastical elements. I found this piece difficult to write because instead of following one storyline, I alternated between a present-day fictional story, and a memoir recounting my experiences. I did this because I wanted to combine my thoughts with theories that I had learned in school. While still fictional, I chose to supplement some areas with fact to strengthen the impact of the story. I am standing in a barren field. The wind is gusting around me and still my clothes cling to my sweat drenched skin, so full of moisture that they cannot be dislodged. I take another step into yet another area of unmarked foliage, now entering into a patch of wheat stalks. Their long yellow-brown sheaves envelop me. I am invisible to the prying eye as I saunter through the growth taller than my own frame of 5 feet 6 inches. I am 25 years old. I feel free; the constraints tying my existence to this place loosening as I inch closer to the city limits. My feet feel as if they have been weighed down by rocks as I move closer to the border. Brown Muslim Outsider I grow tired of shouldering the load and collapse into the mud stricken dirt, an earthworm poking out of its little hole amid the earth, as if to say hello. I examine the cuts and scrapes on my palms. Minor. They do not feel as such, and I imagine multiple fractures beneath the skin, their cracks spreading unassumingly, though on the surface a mere scratch on a hand laying overtop the crushed straw that broke my fall. I stand shakily, brushing the dust and pollen from my clothing, getting a sweet waft of grainy earth and sunshine, combined with the sweat emanating from my skin. Again, I take a deep breath and begin to trudge straight in the direction that I had been moving in. Or so I’d hoped – my fall had left me disoriented and amid the towering growth around me, I had no landmark to train my eyes upon to point me in the right direction. Darkness began looming overhead, and I was now truly on my own. I make my way through the darkness, weary. The only source of light was coming from my glow-in-the-dark wristwatch, the time showing that it was already 11:40pm. I banish thoughts of giving up from my mind, and I continue on towards my goal; getting out of the city; it was not an easy task. I recall back to a time when I was seven years old. I could vaguely make out the shape of my parents in the hallway, whispering in hushed tones. Something wasn’t quite right – I could tell that my mom’s face was twisted in anguish from the crease at the back of her neck. My father was standing straighter than usual; bolder, shoulders back, as if trying to brace himself against some invisible attacker. I was young, but I knew enough about my parents to realize that there was something that they weren’t telling me. They had caught me listening in to their conversation, so they joined me in my bedroom, fake smiles plastered across their faces. “Why don’t you sleep now, beta?” my mother asked uncomfortably. Ignoring her question entirely, I looked deep into my mother’s oval eyes. “What were you and dad talking about in the hallway?” My voice had trailed off, seeing the worried expression creeping across my mother’s features. My dad answered before my mother could reply. “Honey, you should not be listening in on our private conversations, and in any case, this is nothing to discuss with a child” he answered, kissing the top of my head; his prickly facial hair tickled me. He said this firmly, but I could tell that my dad wasn’t actually mad. He stroked my cheek with endearment, and softly touched his wife’s shoulder and left the room, swiftly. My mom looked on with an expression that I couldn’t quite place on her face. She turned back towards me, and I could see the cogs in her brain were whirring and turning, deciding whether she should say what she was thinking. “Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?” Before I could reply, she had begun. “There once was a town far, far away. It was a quiet town, full of humble people. They had no idea that deep in the wilderness, these creatures existed. They were called Windigos. They had dark, winged limbs and bright yellow eyes; eyes that were capable of murder. These Windigos hunted people like us. Outsiders. People that did not fit in with the rest of society. They were cruel and unforgiving- they killed without regard of age or gender – they only see one thing and one thing only – to what group you belonged to. Whether you had a support system – “I want you to promise me something...” she said, interrupting her horrific tale with a query. “Yes, mom, what is it?” “I want you to promise me that you’ll never stray too far from our community – from us. We are your family. We are your community. Promise me!” she cried out, her voice growing shrill. “I – I promise, mom.” Without another word, my mother had cut the tale short, and left my bedroom. I had lain in the dark, with the soft light still illuminating across the room, my eyes following a trail of dust, only visible within the stream of light. Why would my mother tell me this horrifying tale? And a story of pure, fabricated fiction at that. What did that accomplish? My mind had spun in circles. Unless – maybe there was more fact than fiction to this tale after all. Shivering from the memory, combined with the chilliness of the atmosphere setting in, I peered around at the empty greenery surrounding me. I gazed out from within the stalks of wheat. There was a tall patch of corn a few feet ahead that I could walk between, but I would first have to venture out into the flat plane, where anything could be lurking. In the darkness, I wasn’t able to see my surroundings very clearly and the terror engulfed me. I want you to promise me that you’ll never stray too far from our community – from us. The words rang in my ears as I stepped out of the cover of darkness and into the short grass. I was completely at these creatures’ mercy now. *** When people think about racism and exclusion on the basis of skin colour, things that come to mind are; a police officer stopping a person of colour on the street for a ‘random’ search; a Muslim couple being taken out of line at an airport for suspicious behaviour; a young Black boy being sat down by his parents and being given “the talk”, but this talk is not one of the birds and the bees or of sexuality, but one that starts at a far younger age. The conversation details that you should never resist arrest or speak back to a police officer, because whether you are six or sixteen years of age, they will not treat you as a child and they will not hesitate to inflict harm. These are all well-researched forms of discrimination and institutional disadvantage that we as a society are familiar with, but the form of racism that I want to tell you about is one that is difficult to define, talk about, or prove. There is no checklist that you will be able to refer to that says, yes, she did in fact experience racism because factors a b and c were present. Inter-ethnic/ minority racism is when individuals from minority groups are racist or discriminatory towards other ethnic groups. Growing up as an Indian- Pakistani Canadian in the city of Markham has shaped my life and my experiences thus far; they will also continue to shape my experiences in the years to come. What I mean by an Indian-Pakistani Canadian is someone that is of South Asian ethnicity that was either born in Canada or immigrated to Canada at any stage in their life. In my case, my mom was born in Karachi, Pakistan, and my dad was born in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. They had met in Canada in the late 1980s and I was born in Toronto in the mid-90s, moving to Markham early in my formative years in January of 2003. I feel that the specific city that I grew up in, as opposed to the province or country as a whole, played a big role in how I was socialized to view myself and my self-worth. When I moved to Markham in 2003, it had a very large ethnic Chinese population, and not unlike China Town in Toronto, I feel that a specific subculture or diaspora emerged. A diaspora is defined as a group of individuals who have developed their own communities after arriving from abroad. China Town in Toronto may be a stronger example of a diaspora due to the very distinct culture present, but even in Markham, you will see many restaurants that specialize in Asian cuisines, people speaking Cantonese and Mandarin, and you will find malls and churches that cater to a specific demographic. Upon moving to Markham in elementary school, I remember I that I always felt out of place and different from the rest of my classmates. I also felt that they regarded me differently from others in our class. The idea that I experienced racism as a marginalized person among other marginalized people may seem like a strange concept, but this is not a new form of racism in our society. This has been something that has always existed, but has rarely been written about. Why you might ask? The reason that I said racism between minority groups is a strange concept is because of two reasons. First, minorities do not have as much power as the dominant societal groups in Canada. When you look at the people in government making decisions, these people are neither Indian nor Chinese. However, I argue that in Markham, there is a definitive power hierarchy among ethnic groups, with the Chinese holding the most power due in part to the population size. Secondly, it is strange because there is expected to be a certain amount of transfer sympathy among these groups, such that they both understand what it feels like to experience racism, so they should supposedly try to avoid inflicting that feeling on others. However, that has not proven to be the case, due to a lack of social solidarity between the two groups. Instead of realizing that discriminating against others is unneeded, inter-ethnic/ minority racism is still a reality in our present-day society. Still not convinced that inter-ethnic racism is real? I want you to imagine an Asian family turning their noses up at a Black person for their darker skin-tone, subconsciously associating whiteness with beauty. Particularly in the South Asian community, light skin is thought to be connected to class or a person’s higher caste; skin-whitening creams are also used to subscribe to Eurocentric beauty ideals. Another example of minority racism is a Black person making snide comments about Asians not knowing how to drive. Imagine a family on a highway and there is a driver in front of them going below the speed limit and not using their turn signal. “They must be Asian” they say. The forms of racism here range from lightly used stereotypes to deeply ingrained perceptions of worth. In both circumstances, whether the other party takes offense or not, these are forms of racism. *** I scurried across the field like a mouse trying not to be seen. The creatures feasted off fear so I tried to remain as calm as possible, but the hammering in my chest could not be ignored. My ears filled with sounds of Thump, thump Thump, thump Thump, thump. I was only one foot away from the stalks and once again I would be concealed by a protective covering amid the crops. I tiptoed across the field, trying not to make a sound. I stopped mid-motion. I’d heard a rustling behind me. I froze, the hairs at the back of my neck standing straight up. My arms were poised as if ready for an attack. And then I heard it again. A crunch of leaves from a spot even closer to me. Without another look, I took off sprinting, out of the clearing and towards the stalks of corn. My feet slapped against the damp grass as I ran, the wetness trying to drag me in and hold me in my place. I only stopped running once I was within the tall growth. I looked around trying to find who – or what – had made that noise, but I could see nothing, and I could hear nothing except for my heavy panting. My throat felt raw and I longed for water, but I knew that the priority at this moment was leaving the city in which I fell victim to otherness. It wasn’t safe here. When I talk about racism, I will be using Banton's definition of racism, such that one's behaviour is thought to be determined by ascribed characteristics, such as race, ethnicity, caste, or overall appearance. Certain attributes are unconsciously linked with these characteristics; in turn, some traits and persons alike will be seen as superior to others. In this context, assigning statuses of superiority or inferiority is a very controversial topic. Indian- Pakistani Canadians are not seen to be inherently inferior to Chinese- Canadians, but in a setting where the dominant culture is dictated and controlled by the Chinese, an argument can be made for the former. That is not to say that this is the case in other communities where the population make-up is altered; one might find the opposite to be true growing up in Mississauga or Brampton, Ontario. However, in our city, there are certain studies that help to understand why individuals like myself may have perceived inferiority to be the case at one point or another. From a Statistics Canada survey in 2002, respondents were asked about their general comfort level around certain immigrant ethnic groups, as well as Canadian-born ethnic groups. The results showed that 69% of respondents were comfortable around Chinese immigrants, and 77% were comfortable around Canadian-born Chinese individuals. This was in sharp contrast to only 48% of respondents feeling comfortable around Indo- Pakistani immigrants, and 59% around Canadian-born Indo-Pakistani people. There is no doubt that that feeling uncomfortable around certain groups coincides with poor treatment, exclusion, marginalization, as well as practices of racism. As I mentioned above, this does not just extend to White or European people. Social solidarity is when people conform to a collective consciousness based on their perceived similarities, including but not limited to skin colour, race, ethnicity, or culture. Forming a collective consciousness means they may infer commonalities with other members of the same race. For example, perceiving similarities in morals and values. This leads people in the in-group to prefer their "own kind" and form boundaries between who is a part of the in-group and who is not, and through practices of inclusion and exclusion. Language was just one of the ways that I felt excluded in Markham, Ontario. By excluded, I define this as being denied certain privileges that come with in-group membership. In elementary school, I would be sitting at lunch, not being able to participate in the conversations that were being had in Cantonese and Mandarin. It was not as if I was denied access to the classroom, or that I was not allowed to sit with the others, but rather it was a feeling of exclusion and isolation. It also felt like I was being purposefully excluded because, as one of the only nonChinese students in the class, we were the only ones who were not able to understand and engage. In an attempt to fit in with my classmates, I increasingly found myself put into positions where I could either tell the truth and be shunned, or lie and be accepted. I remember buying a pair of Yu-Gi-Oh! shoes in grade four when I hadn’t seen the show. I claimed excitedly that it was my favourite TV show of all time, when I really only branded myself with the clothing. I also remember dragging my South Asian parents to the grocery store to buy roasted seaweed snacks that were immensely popular among my friends in grade five. Whatever I did to try to gain acceptance only worked to a certain degree. One of my most poignant memories from elementary school was when we were colouring with pencil crayons – having since moved on from crayons the year prior – and when I asked for the ‘skin colour’ pencil-crayon, a boy rolled his eyes at me and handed me the ‘brown’ colour. “Didn’t you mean this shade? The peach is obviously not your skin tone” he had said. As I coloured in my face and peered at the others around me, I was very clearly the outlier, and I had longed to never feel that way again. As elementary school progressed, I increasingly found myself feeling anxious when the teacher said that it was time to get into partners or groups. I never understood why this simple request made me so uncomfortable in the past, but I realize now that this was due to my feeling excluded. Due to a shared collective consciousness among others that they were all hard-working and intelligent, my worth could not be accounted for within this framework. No one ever wanted to work with me; they didn’t come right out and say that they thought I was dense or boring, but I had been able to read between the lines. After elementary school ended and I entered into middle school and then high school, I still felt rejected in the larger society in Markham. I mentioned earlier about Markham arguably being a Chinese diaspora, with the variety of churches, restaurants, and malls throughout the city catering to the group. In an analysis of outsider experiences, Li argues that "ethnic malls" are representative of the class dynamics in a society. Similarly, the Markham mayoral elect of 1995 claimed that Asian malls only catered to the Chinese community, and the successes of these businesses created a resentment on the part of other groups in Markham, as their businesses were not able to thrive to the same degree. The mayor also wanted to decrease the number of nonEnglish language signs around the city, to possibly counteract these effects. I do not at all agree with Mayor’s stance on Chinese-run businesses in Markham. However, it is important to note that the study suggests others feeling excluded from the larger diaspora or subculture. In addition, out-group members did not feel the same levels of institutional completeness from the building of these stores. Institutional completeness is when an ethnic group forms institutions and organizations for its members, to retain their culture. Coinciding with emotional exclusion was physical exclusion. As I started trying to find my first job in high school, I was not hired or able to work at these malls, due to the language barrier. To work there, it was expected that you would be fluent in Cantonese and/ or Mandarin, whereas I did not speak either. Even outside of these malls or restaurants, I have also felt ignored trying to find employment at other establishments in Markham. Oftentimes, employers preferred individuals that were fluent in English, as well as one of the two Chinese languages. When I conceptualize feeling like an outsider, I draw on Han's findings of in-group and out-group members using key words such as "foreigners", "we/us", and "they/them." Feeling as though you are a part of larger society is not as simple as whether or not you are able to find a partner for a school project. The question at hand here is, what factors determine whether you categorize yourself as being a part of the "we" or the "them"? Why is it that I separated myself from the dominant subculture in Markham, and felt that I was an outsider? In a research study by Banting and Soroka, it was found that immigrants and other minorities may feel that they "belong" as a Canadian, or as a citizen of Ontario, but that the sense of belonging in a city or town is the lowest of them all, decreasing throughout the generations. My experiences are in-line with this. While I have a strong sense of nationalism and pride for my country, I still feel like an outsider in Markham, even more so than my parents. As the subculture and/ or diaspora in Markham grows, I feel increasingly out of place. My eyes grew wide as I approached the city limits. I was finally at the border of the city in which I had longed to leave. The sun had begun to rise in the sky, and I realized that I had been walking all night, aside from the four-hour nap that I had taken amongst the corn. Nestled in the dirt, inching closer to the familiar scents of rich floral and the warmth it provided, I had slept soundlessly. Things had finally been looking up for me – I no longer felt like I was being watched as I looked out at the grey skies, growing lighter by the minute. The grey was beginning to change into yellowish blue, and with it, I settled into a sense of safety. I looked out at the border in front of me. It did not look any different than the land that I had been standing upon. All that signaled the change was a small sign indicating that I was leaving the city of Markham. I had pictured this moment so differently all these years, imagining that I would run across the line with an air of triumphant joy, finally safe from the Windigos that hunted our land. But now I stand here thinking, what creature must inhabit the other side of the border? Could my idealized version of life outside of this city live up to my expectations, or would something else push me down after I had finally picked myself off the floor? Taking a deep breath, I closed the space between myself and the next city, bracing myself for the newness that I would face. My foot was halfway between the two sides when I sensed movement to my left; behind me. I turned and saw the hideousness of the creature in my midst. Dark brown tufts of fur spread along a bony, looming frame; standing on its hind legs with its arms spread out – beckoning to me. I could see the glint of evil in its bright yellow eyes, its mouth open to reveal rotted teeth and flesh. Blood dribbled down its teeth onto its chin. It did nothing; it only stared. *** Having received an education in Markham, I noticed that the teachers paid closer attention to and expected greater things from the Chinese students in my class. I was never given the opportunity to excel in school because the teachers were providing all of their extra help to the in-group students. In elementary school, my grades were very poor, and contrary to belief, this was not because I was unintelligent. I recall this one test that I had gotten a very poor grade on; one of my Chinese friends had done poorly too, and was beaming that the teacher was letting her redo the test. I asked the teacher if I too could redo the test, and she said that she felt that I did not try as hard on the assessment, and that therefore I should not be allowed to rewrite. This is just one example of how I was disadvantaged in that setting. What I have so far described touched on one of the of three forms of institutional racism; when supposedly racially neutral policies disadvantage minorities, inadvertently. This includes the zero-tolerance policy at schools, as well as suspensions. Just as I was not given a second chance on that test, other racialized youth are not given an opportunity to fix their mistakes and are suspended, while non-racialized youth may not have been disciplined for a similar offense. The racism in schooling is based on a skin colour hierarchy, where Chinese or East Asians are arguably higher than Indian-Pakistanis and other South Asians, due to East Asians generally having a lighter skin complexion. In such case, they are given preferential treatment in matters pertaining to education and learning. Blaut argues that most academics are under the assumption that all races, even those that are supposedly seen as inferior in society, have the same capability for excellence and intelligence, but that only certain groups are able to realize this potential. This here is a cultural problem, and not a biological problem. *** I stared into the yellow eyes of the threat looming in front of me, cowering at the thought of it reaching for me with its large hairy claws. I pictured it pulling me back towards a place that I had been so keen to leave, ravenous for my flesh and blood. Instead, it just watched me. I couldn’t understand why it was not attacking me – it was letting me leave. I looked deep into its eyes and recognized a softness – a fondness. I clenched my jaw and looked out at the greenery on the other side of the border. After years of being trapped, I finally had my chance to change my fate and move into a new surrounding – but I didn’t want to. I thought back to my parents sitting at home wondering where I had gone for the past 24 hours. My friends living nearby that I would see less often. My trips to Main Street Unionville and Toogood pond, the breathtaking nature surrounding me. The kindness with which my neighbours had always treated me with. For the first time in my life, I realized that the creature would not attack me because I was not an outsider. This was my home. *** There are a lot of things that need to be changed regarding how we as a city view and talk about race. While it is often considered a taboo topic, we need to recognize the struggles that people in our community are going through, so that we can come to the other side as a cohesive unit. As our own little sub-division of the Greater Toronto Area, we need to recognize that even though we are a community of hardworking immigrants that have built a better life for ourselves and our children, power imbalances and feelings of unease do still exist and must be brought to light in order for things to change. The Windigo is a well-known Canadian creature, originating from Native American mythology. It is famous for hunting people on the brink of isolation. I leave you with this final thought; do not let the Windigo come to Markham.

THE DOMINION OF HERE: WATCHING IN MARKHAM THROUGH FIVE POEMS - Ken Wightman

ARTIST’S STATEMENT I have read and written poetry on and off for many years. At its roots, poetry is about the energy and excitement of being caught up in the music of language, and registering how life and world interact, in a way that gets the truth and zest of it. That is why I write: I want to capture in poetry what I watched and what it felt like and meant, candidly. Each of the five poems in the suite portrays diverse perspectives of my experience of Markham. They touch on this country, this city and especially sides of nature encountered in it. The Dominion of Here We are heading home To our place in Markham Much east of The Falls Past the rough of Buffalo To a country bred of order And moody scattered space Yes, the sad rubber-stamp malls The same fifty percent Off while it inevitably lasts But you have learned That up further, way up Much north of here Are multitudes of forests Tundra you have never seen and Excessive unrelieved ice Where absence is general It is this that shapes the rest, A part of its sense, the geist of it, That, and the smudged Little histories of workers Boats of beaten immigrants Encounters with incumbent Indians All sprinkled over too much space The big bossy south imposes Its dollared pull, but we will remain Up here, the dominion of us and this The dominion of here And so I think Of queens, boats and birds We have staged on coins Of specific streets where I have lived Of friends, of cities Of snow on cleft rock, of fluttery poplars Of brothers and sisters De nos belles provinces Of plains morose as seas This Canada, this Markham Our home, our home Park Near Toogood Pond Walking home in the park I looked up at An array of partly bright and billowed maples Their leaf domes taking in the intermittent wind Auxiliary breezes wafting and working the leaves Bobbing, sighing, fluttering, the eddies circulating Probing into their overlapped masses Seemingly released and then settled back Dazzling in their grand relaxed givenness As though integral to a broader scheme of merit Two women sat near a stump, having a slow smoke Talking, their gray dog sniffing for ground smells And dog-like not really lighting on one for long On the sunward side the trees glowed, on the other They were dark, secondary and almost still As though the disclosure nearby was in excess, and here Admitting only a portion of short-lived gloaming light The several dimensions resolving to a kind of whole: So much of the world was caught up here Over-determined swaying entangled and vast The distance from one opening to another not much Though in the gaps, room for birds and high passages How did one's imagining remake the ranks of trees? And how did the air of a June evening take up one Ascension-like to an amber-green cathedral of sense That expanded and ran out in sorties to an elevated kind Of knowing? Fall Sky Over Unionville on a Very Cold September Day in the Chinese Shih Style For Du Fu and Li Bai both part of an 8th century Tang Dynasty group of scholars called the “Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup” ****** Autumn sky in the coral morning Brilliance before etched November Spider-veined leaves play and flutter From trees in mourning, now departing ****** Plump geese on the reddened sky Ascend overhead in their squawking Fattened fields of corn still half-picked Snow moon is waiting for its entrance ****** Just before the midnight of this day Earth smells enter the snap of air The potion works, I am left sleepy Oaks softly rustle, leaves are raised ****** Through the woods past the field Apricot lights of houses flicker And I on this side under the sky Peering out on night descended Wetlands near Seven The flurry of starlings wheels in Banks left, dissolves to a fading plane In unity over the mass of marsh, snaps back Returns, blistering, brash and quick Swivels into a jaunty angle, explodes Breaks, then descends like burnt black Cinders, slowing up, settling, wings up Sifting, feathering down, melding Into their base and sanctuary The green-drenched reeds beckon and wave Until the birds dissolve themselves into The waiting palette below March Ice Come skate, says my son The ice is frozen good This may be the last game Of the season On the farmer's flooded field Over by Highway Seven Plankton and weeds are Sealed into the ice Bubbles of air are caught In mid-motion, close Up to the sharpened air, suspended In immobile chains of silver We shinny for a while In the harsh March wind This is the last for sure Snow is blowing in Men and boys leave We head around the ice Do a few snazzy passes Mix it up in the corners We're the only players left The sun is setting down The shadows assume a Sombre blue before the night The brief northern days Are miserly with the light Get this long one, son, get Ahead of it, move with it Keep your head up Remember what I told you His skates inscribe Interim lines on the surface His mother wants us home For dinner; we're late Play hard, guy, this Will all soon be gone