Inspired by “A love letter from my hoops”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55g-uYH_7o4
If my beaded earrings could talk they would say:
You got me as a gift,
Your mother said “Your grandmother made these, aren’t they pretty?”
You were a presentation of my other side.
Something far away that I somehow felt like I needed to hide from my white friends
You represented my brownness
The “savage”
The “fish eater”
I hid you.
But you were still my treasure to be kept that I can’t throw away.
This was after all from your anansiak, the lady that you only knew to be kind and always worried that you ate enough food
You shine when the light hits you.
You make that noise when I walk.
You feel nice on my hands
I was ashamed, because once I put you on, it’s visible.
It’s the… “Where did you get those?” “My grandmother made them” and nothing further is ever asked.
You know now.
I know now.
Now you make me shine.
I can’t get enough of you.
I forever now, proudly put the thread on the needle and grab beads, to make you into a representation of me:
Inuit.
polimania 