Beluga swim the seaway. The river. The river I was born on. On an island. On an island in the river. The bridge crosses over into Kahnawake. The people of the flint. The keepers. Crossing over one way out and one way home. Then I was young. Then I was older. And we learned to follow Champlain. Voyageur. He chose a young wife to better his circumstances. Champlain was the new father of her new land. Not her. She bore him no children. St. Ursula took over. The little bear. Mother of 11,000 virgins. Beheaded on an incomplete voyage. And all my love was from afar and away. Incomplete. And the beluga as seen through glass has skin as pale as death.

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