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Old Whitney Pier

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Old Whitney Pier

Don’t cross those tracks,
Stay on that side of the overpass.

Whitney Pier?
A place some people feared.

A diverse community with lots of culture.
A Canadian heritage site like no other.

Welcome to the Pier Dear,
That was something you’d always hear.

Like many families that settled in Cape Breton,
Parents came to work, and then sent for their children.

They worked at the Steel Plant, Coke Ovens and the Coal Mines.
West Indians in the blast furnace: they could take the heat high.

Steel Plant, Tar Ponds, Canada’s toxic playground.
Now it’s a park with tracks, trails and sporting grounds.

Grandparents sitting back, reminiscing about the good old times.
Church every Sunday, mama baking bread and pies.

Some families didn’t have much.
But they invited you in, shared stories and fed you lunch.

I remember in my day, my mom would always say, for a dollar
You can get a bag of chips, soda and chocolate bar, with change left over.

You can always count on people from the Pier.
You get a smile, hello, how are you, and who’s your mother and father dear?

The Pier had businesses on every corner.
Barber shops, bakeries, grocery stores and plenty more.

We built churches, schools and community halls, so we would have a place to go.
Immigrants built the Pier from the ground up, many years ago.

You could visit Arties & Fred Tommie’s to get your daily cup of tea.
Men and women dancing around, jiving, doing the swing.

The Kabana Club, Clipper, and the Thistle were also places to be.
Putting hard-earned money, ching, ching in the slot machines.

We raised artists, athletes, cops, doctors, and lawyers.
Teachers, musicians, politicians and so much more.

A time when neighbours knew each other.
Welcomed everyone with open arms, and built friendships forever.

When I was young I had so much fun.
There was one-cent candy, and five-cent bubble gum.

Who remembers picking berries on blueberry hill?
Picked all day, ate until we were ill.

Lemonade stands, selling blueberries door to door.
Running errands for the elders, to the local corner store.

Children playing outside until the street lights came on.
You would hear parents yelling, Wanda, Marie, Jack, Noreen:
It’s time to come home.

Street Chase and Nicky Nicky 9 Doors, games kids loved to play.
Everyone enrolled in 587 Air Cadets, they’re still running today.

The Pier Day Care, United Mission and Whitney Pier Youth Club
Were a part of every child’s childhood.

Community Hall field trips, coming back all muddy.
The looks on our parents’ faces were frightening, but funny.

Running to Pier Video so we can throw quarters in the gumball machine.
Praying we would win free popcorn and movies.

Kids from all over Sydney would come to the Pier for the Menelik Hall dances.
Everyone got along, no one focused on our differences.

Christmas parades, Mission picnics, and lots of festivals.
Open loaders, pierogies, chicken and rice, hot sauce, and souse.

Want to learn some history?
Head to the Whitney Pier Historical Museum.

Sydney-Toronto Reunion, Action Week and sports.
Fun-run, baseball games, street dances, and the Tupper Street courts.

You could look out your door or walk down the street.
See adults and children talking and laughing, the sounds were sweet.

Oh the things I would give to live in Old Whitney Pier.

The Doll

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The Doll by Letitia Fraser, graphite on paper.

Letitia Fraser is a proud descendant of North Preston and comes from a long line of artists. About The Doll Letitia says: “I wanted to use things that have a connection to my community and my childhood, both of which are a great source of inspiration for me.”

Dear Ugly Duckling…

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Dear Ugly Duckling

I write to you because you are too familiar.
Do you not find it strange that I’d seen you,
read you a hundred times before,
but never felt the pain that I now feel?
I did not recognize you then,
I was blinded by Hans Christian Andersen’s pen
The simple tale that was meant to teach me a lesson.

My lived experience has made me see
I am much like you
You are much like me
And when I look around in my community
My spirit aches for the countless reflections
of you
Who named you so and why?
Your story made my heart cry
And how long did you have to wait
To belong to a crowd that would not negate
Your very existence?

From whence did your endurance come?
Waiting between the covers three decades and some
Patiently, but sometimes in despair
To find your voice and whisper
“There is something wrong here!”
Seize it, retell it, don’t let it go!
You must know, they must know
that Ugly Ducklings exist
inside the covers of countless texts,
between title and credits on movie screens,
inside the walls of schools, colleges, and universities
silenced, illegitimately named and dying inside.
They wander along the margins their true selves to find,
society’s pawns,
because no one has yet told them
…they truly are swans.

A Design for Humankind

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A Design for Humankind

 

There it stands–my mother’s time-worn loom

Holding life’s sweetness and life’s sorrows

A glorious tapestry of entwined lights and darks!

Threads of all colours harmonizing.

Imagine this as a map of the world

Bound together with threads of compassion

Fastened firmly with knots of love.

 

 

 

Dear Daughter

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Dear Daughter

Open Letter to my future daughter:

Burden Versus Blessings

What if I told you this world is dark, cold and ugly?

What if I told you your whole life they’ll try and convince, blame and force you into believing it’s you?

What if I told you you’ll be confused and some parts you’ll believe are true?

What if I told you that they’ll downplay your features, assets and accomplishments, never being recognized or acknowledged as qualified?

Even the ones that look the same will try and tarnish your name

In the hierarchy of life you will be labelled lower than men less than women

They’ll criticize before they copy

They’ll laugh and be envious

They’ll take with no apologies

You’ll cry

And cry

And cry

Until there’s enough tears to drown in

You’ll question your purpose

The more you crave the need to be saved

They’ll remind you you’re worthless

You’ll pray to be different

Not realizing you’re already unique

Weak

You’ll fall victim but you’ll never be allowed to call yourself that

They’ll disguise forgiveness as forgetting

They’ll hate you

To the point you hate yourself

You’ll break

And break

Until it feels like there’s too many pieces to fix

But what if I told you this

World wouldn’t be the same without your existence?

What if I told you you’re stronger than the weapons formed against you?

What if I told you on your back those aren’t burdens but the spirit of your sisters?

Step by step as your saviours

What if I told you, you are smart, beautiful and warm?

What if I didn’t warn

You about the world

I warned the world about you?

The fearless, force and fighter you are

The roots of richness you reach from

Dear Daughter, you are special

And as much as I love you I want you to love yourself

That’s how you shield yourself

From the darkness to get light

The cold to be warm

And the ugly to remain beautiful

Not hiding but protecting

Your soul

You’re not just a Queen

You are a Black Queen

Carry your crown with pride

Never lie

Because your truth is powerful