Brandon’s New Bridge

Three years it’s been since that insightful day
When chat with Marg words slipped – then broke away
The snag which stopped my life from working out
‘Third Culture’ – I’m from Echoland, no doubt.

Through error’s words I saw I’d not belonged
Nor sprung intact from ‘Anglo culture’ strong;
But rather from a land that’s in between
The Cree and English culture lands I mean.

‘Third Culture dKid’ – a concept later learned –
I see it now, the land for which I yearned
Is ‘Echoland” I spoke of in my books
I’m Creenglishman – no more those longing looks.

Two times she griped about how much it cost,
“Those Natives whine, and mooch, and seem so lost –
Too much for free, seems what is wrong to me;
Just cut them off, why can’t you people see?”

First time she spoke I let it pass unchecked
But when again she spoke with no respect
I blurted out, as if from on her side
How English were the winners of free ride.

“Come on,” I said, “They’ve paid a handsome price
Look what we got – it’s really very nice:
A continent, or three it truth be told,
What did we pay – most surely not with gold.

A pail of beads and trinkets here and there;
A book or two; and bandaids now we share;
Each treaty made we broke, and broke again;
We ripped them off; and nature’s resource gained.

That shut her up, though doubt it changed her mind;
I’m tired of hearing this, so spoke my mind
As I look back I speak as bridge between
Two warring cultures, knowing what each means.

Three years it’s been – my culture’s not in doubt –
Once cut adrift, I've learned what it’s about
To be from Echoland that’s in between
Two cultures, now a bridge I am, it seems.