Seven Sacred Truths by Wanda John-Kehewin

The words of Wanda John-Kehewin contain powerful medicine, for herself and for those who read this book.

This volume contains a mix of spiritual wisdom amd vulnerable self-revelation, sprinkled through with the humour that has helped this courageous woman to rise above the violent abuses practiced on her and her people. We need to "take our designer blinders off," and consider the life of this "First Nations Woman with brown skin, a brown mind, who lost her mother to alcohol."

She does not despair; instead she hopes the Elders who have died with their wisdom unspoken will return "in art, words and resolution and send us an army of youth who will cry for the past, sing for the future," so that "we may one day be able to die peacefully."

Her cultural perspective is wide and her indictment of consumerism memorable: "Once something becomes a commodity, it is destined to run out and become a greedy man's lifeline..." On the other hand, "when your only toys are books, paper and #10 gray pencils, you could only see in black and white, wrong and right."

She does not spare herself, but examines her writerly calling with ruthless realism, observing herself as she sits "on the floor amid the clutter and consumer righteousness." Deep inside her the little girl she used to be is still "cowering in the corner," while the adult poet splashes her "feeble, useless fury onto recycled paper while another twenty trees lie dying by the side of the road," just so she can have a "paper voice." Sipping from a paper cup on which is printed 'Save the Trees,' she savours the precious water, sharply aware of how we are consuming our entire planet.

In a poignant "Letter to my Nine-year-old Self," John-Kehewin speaks these words of consolation to the traumatized and despairing child she once was: "I can tell you just how strong you were and how that strength would be shared with your own children one day." Though the babies born to the poet are not as big as the babies born to the white women, the hospital nurses are awed by her five-pounders. "'I pack light,' she says, and leaves them "wondering whether to laugh or take out Canada's food guide."

In Geometry, the final poem, she ponders how to bridge the gap between the different cultures she must negotiate, and concludes that some values are universal. After listing some of the things she does not know, she invites the reader to "Let me tell you what I do know." The list that follows includes these crucial things: "You should never hit a woman," and "You should never oppress a child, or tell them they are stupid and limit their chances to thrive." Reminded by this powerful indirect reference to all she has come through, readers are deeply impressed, and thankful she survived to grow, thrive, and share her wisdom.