When I was a child
I believed I could speak to the wind
and that if I asked respectfully
then I could influence
the way the breeze
pushed or pulled through the trees
and that the wind held
a specially affinity
with this
little green eyed girl.
I later learnt that my family
was born of the land and the sea
and that as Larrakia people
our language, songs and dance
are part of that Country
Our bodies
a physical manifestation of the
spirit moving through that land
Our words gifted to our mouths
from the very earth on which my people stand
and that we do speak to the wind
and that Country
speaks back
a soft sigh on the sea singing.
Daughter, can you hear me?
I’m ashamed to say that sometimes
I can’t always hear Country’s call
caught up in the day to day
hustle and bustle.
Too many people
Get out of my way
Turn up the TV
Close the blinds
I can’t remember the last time I saw the sunrise
or fall
but still my Country calls.
Dad says Country is crying for me
Longing for my return
A piece of a puzzle
out looking for the larger picture
searching for a place to belong
or to be a part of something bigger
Cuz said Country’s crying for me.
She can hear it
in the rain
but she called just to say
another baby came today.
Wish you were here.
They built another shopping mall
and cut down all the trees
Billawarra
(that’s our black cockatoo)
had to fly away and leave.
Then they tore out our mangrove
and leased the port to the Chinese
drilled into Darrawa
(that’s our salt water)
for the gas company.
Cut out our homes and
built a base for the US navy.
And now they’re coming
with giant machines
newspapers saying it’ll
‘stimulate the economy’
Think of all that money we’ll have
when we frack the NT.
They’re coming for our Countries
for our spirits
and our identities
And right now,
as we speak
the Djab Wurrung are defending their sacred trees
as VicRoads waits to bulldoze their ancestors’ legacies
A legacy of resilience
a Country crying for its children
Remember sis
listen past their lies and their bullshit
your Country is calling
with a cry on the wind—
Daughter, can you hear me?
Cover image © Iris Lee
About the author
Laniyuk was born of a French mother and a Larrakia, Kungarrakan and Gurindji father. Her poetry and short memoir often reflects the intersectionality of her cross cultural and queer identity. She was fortunate enough to contribute to the book Colouring the Rainbow: Blak Queer and Trans Perspectives as well as winning the Indigenous residency for Canberra's Noted Writers Festival 2017 and Overland’s Writers Residency for 2018. Laniyuk currently lives in Melbourne but is hoping to one day return to her home town Darwin.