This week’s poem, Mihku Paul’s “Afterlife,” speaks in the voice of a great being of the sea. I’m moved by the intricate and damning detail of this poem, as well as by the sorrowful authority of its speaker’s voice. “Afterlife” is part of Paul’s latest project, “Nebi,” about bodies of water; “Ciksotuwin” is a Passamaquoddy/Maliseet phrase meaning “listen to me.” I’m excited to announce that Paul will serve as guest editor for next week’s Deep Water column.

Paul is a Maliseet poet and 2010 graduate of the Stonecoast MFA program. She has worked as a consultant on issues of diversity and inclusion for more than two decades. She is the author of “20th Century PowWow Playland” and is currently at work on a manuscript about the waters. She lives and works in Portland.

Afterlife

By Mihku Paul

Ciksotuwin   (Listen to me)
When I end
my skin will be scraped, stretched over false ribs,
make a vessel to traverse the sea so that others can
be hunted more readily.

My fat will be rendered to cook savory dishes,
light the darkness.

My bones will be sculpted and pierced,
draped on a hunter’s neck, one who desires
only to be something like me;
someone who does not need to
steal or borrow courage.

My teeth will be carved into wondrous shapes,
their substance intricate prismatic crystals,
a hardened canvas gouged and furrowed
with images of ships, women and sea giants.

The human hand will hold the weapon with
an easy familiarity.

My death, it will be written, was a kindness because
my kin had all gone into oblivion before me.

Megan Grumbling is a poet and writer who lives in Portland. Deep Water: Maine Poems is produced in collaboration with the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance. “Afterlife,” copyright © 2020 by Mihku Paul, appears by permission of the author.

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