From the publisher:
Calling Down the Sky is a poetry collection that describes deep personal experiences and post-generational effects of the Canadian Aboriginal Residential School confinements in the 1960’s when thousands of First Nations, Métis, and Inuit children were placed in these schools against their parents’ wishes.
Many were forbidden to speak their language and practice their own culture. Rosanna Deerchild exposes how the Residential Schools systematically undermined Aboriginal culture across Canada and disrupted families for generations, severing the ties through which Aboriginal culture is taught and sustained, and contributing to a general loss of language and culture.
The devastating effects of the residential schools are far-reaching and continue to have significant impact on Aboriginal communities.

rosanna deerchild, calling down the sky
people ask me all the time
about residential schools
as if it’s their business or something
ever since that white guy
nete in ottawa said he was sorry
as if
he knows anything about those places
he wasn’t there
he doesn’t know
he wasn’t there
when i needed comfort
when i cried
he doesn’t know
what that priest did
what those nuns did
you can’t say sorry
for those things
for what happened there
he’s got no right
share your story he says
what does that even mean
boy these misti-gu-su
and their fancy talk
share your story
as if it’s that easy
anyway
it was a long time ago
fifty years since those days
fifty years i said nothing
the words
they get caught right here
in my throat
where the nuns would grab
when we spoke Cree
as if grabbing a dead duck’s neck
haul us up in front of that class
stand there so long,
we pissed ourselves
you learn pretty quickly
to stay quiet after that boy
no
we never talk about it
not back home
not with each other
not even when it was happening,
you just tried to forget about it
leave it behind
some of us did
some of us are still trying
it always finds you though
drags you back
don’t make up stories
that’s what they told us kids
when we went back home
told them what was going on
in those schools
still got sent back
every year
less of us came home
still they said nothing
until we were nothing
just empty skins
full of broken english
ruler broken bones
bible broken spirits
and back home
became a broken dream
no damage done
for all but five years
that’s what it said in the letter
about my residential school story
dear claimant
no records
no proof
sorry
nine years
that’s how long
they kept me in there
i was just a baby
when they came for me
father died on the trapline
mother in the tb sanatorium
didn’t even get to say goodbye
never saw them again
nine years
you know what i got for that
deaf in one ear
blind in one eye
scars all over my head
my legs don’t work
arthritis
diabetes
from what we ate there
you know i never once saw fruit
can’t get no damn sleep
the dead keep me awake eh
ask me for forgiveness
but you can’t forgive and forget
the unnameable
there is no word for what they did
in our language
to speak it is to become torn
from the choking
money got no cure for that
now
i’m almost seventy
and you want me to
share my story
ok then
here it is
here in the unwritten
here in the broken lines
of my body that can never forget


