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Montreal was a Slave Center Campus 

Montreal was a Slave Center

Montreal was a slave center. So was Quebec City. And Three-Rivers. Black and Amerindian people were bought and sold as chattel for hundreds of years here in our young country. Quebec slavery was different from what was going on south of our border, but it was no less onerous. People were torn away from their homelands, their families, their cultures, and involuntarily employed in situations outside of their choosing. In the mid-1600s, a young black Quebec slave-boy named Olivier Le Jeune made it clear to his Catholic owner that they…

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When Am I…? Arts 

When Am I…?

I look outside this layer of glass, And find what I can see. I regard waves of light in their infinite mass, And in them I see me   Me? I ask. Who is this person? He is a creature like the rest; he consumes space and time. How is his condition? Is it bad, will it worsen? I think now and again; he must hear familiar bells chime.   If I can hear such bells, then I know I have air. It makes its way to my cerebrum, creating…

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French Sea In Haikus; Fragments Of A Mother Arts 

French Sea In Haikus; Fragments Of A Mother

A lioness speaks; Of war, breeze, and battle scars Whispers to her cub Anguished cries of a Cracked child pulled from the warm mud Kissed wounds for a dime Soft-furred open paws For the ripped paper doll kids Claws to the matches But lioness in a Sundress, a wicked guide for Bandaid heroines Scarlet lullabies Harsh bark of a gentle tongue Cub in a straight curve Twilight roars, star-jaw  Hot coals for a shattered view Black glass finger-kiss A lioness bites; Cracked neck of a passerby Royal feast in stains…

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WHOSE BODY IS THIS? Voices 

WHOSE BODY IS THIS?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — I love my body. I’ve lived in it for a long time. It freaked me out when I found out I don’t own it. Seriously. Looking at what’s going on in our world, this is what I’ve come to realize: my body isn’t mine. This physical me, it’s not ME. When I’m out cold, head in the stars, dead to the world, unconscious, –flatlined–… it belongs to the…

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Just a Waver Arts 

Just a Waver

If you can read this Then you can’t You aren’t allowed To be more than an ant.   Treacherous tiny traps lock you away Within the earth Where you will stay.   Flicker Falter Twinkle Tremble   Footsteps approach Pitter patter Palpitating dirt Thinking minds shatter.   When you were young These were but dreams Stop thinking now It is never as it seems. Written By: BeNjamyn Upshaw-Ruffner

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