Today I must have woken up as the joke we call a justice system because I feel broken
I feel broken in a way only some would understand
I have thoughts that I wish I could hear from more minds
To prove to myself that I’m not as crazy as this world makes me feel
To think that this is justice?
We were told she wears a blindfold in hopes to achieve
a world of order, a world of equal
but I often wonder of the final thoughts of the boy named Boushie
Was he thinking of his mom or was he thinking “why’d you shoot me?”
I wonder how he felt when he realized
His dreams were not his dreams no longer
His life was not his life no longer
Just the afterthought of the boy named Boushie
Was it fear or just mentality?
A mentality laced in hate, a fiery blaze
A malicious fire that raged across our prairies
Since our ancestors' days
nawataskitêw, it caught on fire
I wonder why we acquit the ‘accident’
of moniyǎw, a white male
Yet we wouldn’t acquit from the other side
Yes, he was scared and yes, he was territorial
we understand where he was coming from
but did he understand us?
Leaving me to wonder
Did he have to shoot the boy named Boushie?
I wonder if they could’ve seen
the morally correct decision better if Gerald weren’t a moniyǎw
And sure, you can say justice was brought
only it catered to one demographic
one heart, one soul
one colour of skin
But some forget we hold the same guts
don’t act surprised when you find that
maybe one day your system will fall apart
and eat you alive in flames
Maybe it’ll fail you the way it failed the boy named Boushie
along with every other Indigenous person to stand on these bloodstained soils
maybe then you’ll be forced to understand
I wonder if they’ll realize the boy just wanted to go home
but he got caught in the fiery wraith of racism, hatred and flame
saskawahwaw, he was on fire
A fire so hot so violent it felt oddly cold
cold as raindrops were in August,
falling on the lifeless body of the boy named Boushie
but even the rain showed more mercy than the moniyǎw
For the rain held the boy as his mother would
I wonder if they will realize he was just another echo of many
caught in the roaring fire of the prairies
pasitêw, the prairie is on fire
Madison Turner
Grade: 12 / CEGEP I
Oskāyak High School
Saskatoon, SK
“I wrote this poem in honor of Colten Boushie, a 22-year-old Indigenous man of Cree Red Pheasant First Nation. After getting a flat tire, he and four friends drove to a farmhouse near Biggar, Saskatchewan, owned by a white farmer in rural Saskatchewan. Boushie was shot and killed, and Gerald was acquitted of murder and manslaughter in the killing of Boushie. He was only 22 and was wrongfully murdered twice, once by the gun, once again by the system. I wrote this poem for every Indigenous person that has faced the systemic oppression of the Canadian justice system. ”
Bio
Raised in Saskatoon, originally from Wahpeton Dakota Nation, Madison Jade Turner is a Two-Spirited Indigenous woman. She finds passion in her writing, focusing on grassroots issues that have had generational impacts on her community. Her aspiration is to become an Indigenous lawyer and work towards reconciliation and protecting her culture.