Poet's Corner: “half-blood” by Justene Dion-Glowa

by Mikaela Brewer ​for The 44 North

Senior Editor

“half-blood” by Justene Dion-Glowa from The League of Canadian Poets’ Poetry Pause, June 5th, 2024

A bison in a wheat field under a cloudy sky

Note: This poem is not in the public domain! Please use the link above to read it.

Justene Dion-Glowa is a queer Métis poet living in Secwepemcúl’ecw. An alum of the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity, they now work in the non-profit sector and recently released their first full-length poetry collection, Trailer Park Shakes, available now via Brick Books.

The brilliance of Justene Dion-Glowa’s poem shines through their use of white space on the page, which is one of my favourite craft tools in poetry. In “half-blood”, space—including caesuras, stanza breaks, line breaks, and indents, for example—works as hard as words, enacting the feeling of being ‘halved’ alongside a sort of sinister whiteness. But there is also space for thought, pause, breath, love, and reverence, for “the strength of our people / and Creator / reflecting in my eye shine”. The title of the poem, “half-blood”, isn’t extrapolated directly, but this is why it works so well: it layers the poem’s language. And although it likely speaks to Dion-Glowa’s Métis heritage, it also says: for so much to coexist is to be devastated—to be in a perpetual state of halving oneself and being halved by society. It’s both a brand of erasure and a necessary state of reflection.

Dion-Glowa, with tender care, also weaves in reflections on longing for the “sleek, hot, and slender-framed conventionally attractive”, “not made for a life of hardship”. A longing, now, to be halved. But I also think about the etymology of the word ‘hardship’, which conjures the rigidity of the British and French ships seemingly pouring into harbours, everything aboard inflicted like a trap. Dion-Glowa’s lines, here, gently shift blame and fault from them and their people. Followed by white space, I see these lines afloat, reclaiming the sea dominated by whiteness. 

There are also several short lines, intentionally placed to help us mirror feeling. For example, “spoons tapping along to the rhythm / I consider / how lucky I am / to have a weight I must carry physically” offers space to mirror how we consider gratitude, particularly with the inclusion of extra space beneath “how lucky I am”. Similarly, Dion-Glowa leaves extra space for generations to hurt—the past is not obsolete or ‘back in time’, it’s ongoing and always with us. The hurt didn’t happen behind us, it’s beneath our every step.

I’m also drawn to the musicality in “half-blood”, specifically in “girthy thighs”, “bison & bear”, and “food / fur / fibre / so / I starve no longer.” When rhyme and alliteration are used here, they ask us to chew. The language is delicious, so an excellent craft choice for the content of these lines (which become memorable for these reasons).

In the same vein as musicality, word choice profoundly shapes a poem. The word ‘meager’ stands out, starkly, because it’s the only word italicized. It also drives the last line, and is uncapitalized when we’d expect a capital ‘M’. We so often repeat “meager means” when we’re speaking about intentionally marginalized and “underprivileged” folks. By using lower case and italics, Dion-Glowa is tapping on the shoulder of the inflection—fear, discomfort, disgust—that’s used when we say ‘meager’, which our lexicon bolsters: “deficient in quantity, fullness, or extent; scanty, deficient in richness, fertility, or vigor; feeble, having little flesh; lean (The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 5th Edition).” Anti-fatness and ableism are apparent here without these exact words, reflective of the covert ways they outline our world. This is the power of poetry—‘meager’ is one word, and placed well, it does the work of evoking everything “half-blood” is alive on the page to say: in body, mind, spirit, and relationship, Dion-Glowa and their people are not, never have been, and never will be meager.

TEN THINGS I WISH SOMEONE TOLD ME IN HIGH SCHOOL

by Abbigale Kernya, ​for The 44 North

Managing Editor

Teenagers celebrating graduation outside.

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“As someone who chose an art degree against her family's wishes, I am here to remind you that somebody else’s plans have no right to influence your own. By plans, I simply mean what gives you joy, what gets you out of bed, and what inspires you. Please, please, follow your passions because I promise you will find your footing even if you have no idea what you want to do with your life.”

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1. It goes so fast - make the most of it

I still remember walking down the halls in ninth grade and thinking, wow, this is it. It seemed like this was my forever, an array of soft-toned metal lockers and linoleum floors. And even though I knew I would graduate and move on, I didn’t actually think it would ever really happen. High school feels like forever, but once you’re out, you begin to realize how fast everything went. Make the most of the precious last few years you will spend as a kid - join clubs, take that art class, take way too many pictures, and remember how it feels to have the whole world waiting for you outside those walls. I promise regret will follow you as closely as it follows me, I promise that it's normal, and I also promise you can ease this burden by taking every advantage this stage in your life offers you. 

2. This is such a small part of your life (life is so much bigger, but your feelings are valid)

It would be lost on me if I did not assure you, dear reader, that I have also felt that soul-crushing pain obligatory in high school. I know, I’ve been there too. And as someone who survived, I’m here to tell you that the pain that follows you around the halls doesn’t last forever. In fact, it almost disappears completely once you leave. Of course, I am biassed as I had two years at home due to that thing known as a pandemic, but I can assure you that all those problems I lost sleep over all those years ago aren’t even a distant memory. Yes, you have every right to feel the way you do. High school is unbelievably tough, but just know it doesn’t last. This is such an astronomically small part of your life. In fact, I am going to be bold here and tell you that life doesn’t even begin until after high school, everything else is simply the preface. 

3.  Please, please, follow your passions.

I know that you have probably met those people who have had their life plan mapped out since the fourth grade. And as someone who chose an art degree against her family's wishes, I am here to remind you that somebody else’s plans have no right to influence your own. By plans, I simply mean what gives you joy, what gets you out of bed, and what inspires you. Please, please, follow your passions because I promise you will find your footing even if you have no idea what you want to do with your life. I’ll let you in on a little secret - nobody has any clue what they’re doing, so you may as well go your own way while you’re at it. I knew there was nothing else I wanted to study in high school other than literature. My room is my own personal overflowing library. I was constantly thinking about writing and reading, so why not make it my career? If you’re going to be imprisoned by capitalism for the rest of your life, you better be doing something you actually enjoy - even if it looks different than everyone else’s. 

4. It's normal to lose friends. 

I can’t remember where I first heard this, but it has always stuck with me: part of growing up is outgrowing people. No truer statement holds merit such as this for the trials and tribulations of high school friendships. Especially going to school in a rural community, we have all known each other since we were basically babies, we all grew up together and spent every waking minute of school crammed in the same small classroom. Then when I headed off to high school, suddenly my tight-knit friend group was put to the test as other kids came into the picture and we slowly began to drift apart. Yes, it's hard, I won’t sit here and tell you it's not. But, I will sit here and tell you that it's okay to stop talking, it's normal to want to branch out. 

5. Everyone is just as insecure as you

Believe me, everyone else is also faking it.

6. When you express yourself, you are going to attract others like you

This is one that I wish more than anything someone told me when I was in high school. Towards the end, I found people that matched my energy but I spent the first half of this very short world pretending to be someone I didn’t like. Yes, that is normal, especially when you’re thrown into a new environment and the thought of letting go of your childhood friends who acted as your crutch during this transition is scary. However, I wish I was brave enough to start wearing the clothes I liked, the movies, the music - I would have found those people much sooner. When you express yourself, you are going to attract others like you and it's the most beautiful feeling. 

7. There is a lesson in that breakup

Oh boy. I struggle to look back at my high school relationships without swallowing down my cringe but however unhealthy and awkward they were, I learned so much from those painful breakups. Mainly, I learned exactly what I don’t want in a partner. This was a monumental awakening for me, and I promise once the pain ends and you look back at everything, you will uncover parts of yourself. Specifically, who you are as a partner and who you want in a partner–making the daunting thought of dating again a little less challenging. In other words: been there, done that, never again.

8. Your body is changing, learn to love it

I feel that when talking about diet culture, something I have spent oh so many years dissecting, it all comes down to one simple thing: life is too short to spend it worrying about your body. And yes I recognize that this is easier said than done, believe me, I do. However, repeating this sentiment to yourself especially when confidence is at an all-time low in high school is the start of acceptance. Bodies will continue to change, how you look now is different than how you looked before and how you will look in the future. Trust me when I tell you life is a lot less stressful when you accept that your body has always been beautiful no matter what you think of it, and there is so much more beauty to be found outside of a body.

9. “Fitting in” only matters now

Whether you choose to continue on with education, take some time off, or jump straight into the workforce, I can promise you will find that the urge to be liked by everyone around you simply vanishes - for the most part. I can only speak to my university experience when I say that when I walk around campus, sit in a lecture hall, or speak in my seminars, I really could not care less about if people think I’m cool, if I’m wearing the right brand, or whatever else used to plague my mind. Blame this newfound freedom on being a double aries or experience it yourself because I promise you, once you’re out of high school everything shifts. A lot of this comes from understanding that all these strangers around you don't care about you - and it's so liberating. 

10. Yes, your grades actually do matter…but not in the way you think

I don't know about you but I was also told in high school that grades don’t matter– I have something else to add to this discussion. The physical grade makes an astronomical difference when it comes to your scholarships and can make a significant difference in your soon-to-be debt. However, as someone who chose an art degree and cannot remember the first thing about algebra or cells, I can tell you with confidence that the gruelling study routine that was ingrained in my head is so beneficial. Learning how to properly study and understand time management is arguably more important than the grade you got on your biology test (granted you’re not looking to become a biologist. If you are, stop reading this and go study for all our sakes)

Ghosts of Diet Cultures Past

by Hailey Hechtman, ​for The 44 North

Contributing Writer

X: @HaileyHechtman IG: @hailey.hechtman

Hailey Hechtman is a social impact leader and mental health advocate. She is passionate about inspiring positive change through community collaboration, constant learning and self-reflection. Watch her interview on 'Life Outside the Box' here.

The December air brings with it many familiar feelings: the coziness of being curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book; evenings chatting with friends reflecting on the year that was; walks through sparkly side-streets shimmering with the glow of red, green, and gold lights hung from trees and balconies. Yet, while these most delight-inducing snippets of the year-end magic fill me with warmth, I am also visited by an uninvited acquaintance from the not-so distant past, the fragments of my eating disorder brain. 

While years have passed since the core of my deepest pain and most obsessive thoughts, there is something about the holiday season and the practice of looking at all those health and fitness goals set in January that lost their way by the spring.

There is an uneasy shadow cast as people gather to have feasts and inevitably wax poetic on the good vs. evil dynamic of the meal that stands before them.

There is something alluring about the reminder that January is a fresh start and that all the choices that resulted in shifts in your body can be wiped away with a new plan, a more disciplined approach. There are the temptations to gorge on the plethora of beige carbs and then confront yourself in the mirror with promises that all will be different on Monday. Sound familiar? This is because so many of us regardless of where we are on the continuum of our relationship with our body, have an uncomfortable and yet incredibly engrained ghost that follows us around, the ghost of diet cultures past. 

It is seemingly innocent when it shows itself as an affirmation to work it off in the morning or a quote posted on a message board telling you that being more disciplined is a cure-all for any feelings of self-doubt. Yet, don’t be fooled, these are just the messages that we see as external to ourselves, the ghost tunnels deeper, it follows us into the corners of our mind and with a few little tweaks, the occasion idiom, it starts to sound like us. 

The mysterious trespasser tags along into the change room at the mall where it laser-focuses in on that one part, that one area that makes us believe we are not worthy. It chases us out of the kitchen and away from that dessert we have been eyeing all evening with reminders that you will not be lovable if you come within a foot of that pile of sugar. It whispers in our ear when glance upon our reflection at a holiday party, signalling to us that everyone is staring and silently judging us for how that dress fits across our hips. 

While this menace likely has been floating around us in a spiral of self-critique since we were young enough to absorb the messages shouted or hushed through magazine covers and our mother’s response to our 2nd helping of rice pudding, it isn’t our voice. 

It is an intruder, an interloper reinforcing a conditioning designed to make us feel less than, to fan the flames of insecurity and leave us distracted away from all the beauty and joy in the world. And, because it is not our truest inner monologue and doesn’t hold a place that is real and honest, it can be banished and replaced. While never easy (it is still something I tackle many years after it has faded into a hum, replaced by a much kinder, compassionate character) we can begin to stop it in its tracks and unlearn its harmful messages of caloric doom. 

How do we do this you ask? Any time a murmur begins to rise thoughtfully informing you of your thighs, or that your last trip to the gym was two weeks ago or that that chocolate has more ingredients that some influencer told you it should, interrupt it. Let it know that you are aware that it is not your voice, it is not your friend. It is a culmination of decades of commercials and movie quips describing to you what worthiness does and does not look like. In these times, once you have it right where you want it, give it a little push and assure this villain in your tale on the journey to self-compassion that you will no longer be handing it the mic. Clearly state that you have decided that as often as possible (because this will take time and you will be strong, and you will be vulnerable and you will confidently pushback and sympathetically let it back in) that you will be calling in a new lead, the one that shows up with a recognition of your gifts, a softness towards your insecurities, the speaker of pep talks when you are uncertain of yourself. The more you can get out in front of vicious force, the shadow that lurks in your fridge, and instead invite the voice that treats you as a friend, as a small child simply trying to wonder at the world around you, the better your ability to call them up will get. 

This approach will not only help and lead you to fill the thought buckets with loving encouragement where vile insults were once slung, but it will also give you insight into the minds of everyone around you, who too is trying to shush an unkind spirit in the form of those absorbed and internalized stories from their inner dialogue. 

You see whether yours speaks of macros and hours moved on an elliptical or of how hard you are supposed to be pushing yourself for your boss or that if your date doesn’t find you charming, clearly they are right and you are scum, we all have these apparitions. We all have slurped up the social norms that surround us at all moments, channelled through the comments of our grandmother at dinner or on our iPhone as we flip through reels showcasing people living the shiniest lives imaginable. So, in these micro-moments where you have a chance to glance at yourself from the outside for a split second, showcase the warmest, most genuine smile to yourself and to those around you as together we all put on the suit of self-compassion to activate our own inner ghostbuster.