birch bark was the writing paper,
wallpaper, canoe paper, money
paper. we forgot about it as we
rushed forward into antiquity.
people lived on lands they saw as
God’s, Kitchimanadoo’s, everyone’s.
what a surprise when we came with
casinos now dot that land, red mans’
revenge, payback, payforward for
grannies with cigarettes dangling
from their lips at the machines
that spit out funny paper, money
paper, nothing paper, until birch
bark looks good again
as something of substance.