By Joanna H. Crowell

                             Ye, to meet you

                             is to meet a strong hand shake.

                             It is to be warmed by a smile

                             as broad as the gap between

                             your native culture and mine.

                             A smile that comforts

                             like a fire place and hot tea

                             at Christmas time in Canada-

                             or China

                             Ye, to meet you

                             is it to be shakin' up by your laugh

                             shakin' into my own body.

                             Your humour is no different from mine.

                             You sitting on the blue velour couch

                             I grew up on,

                             so far away from a familiar

                             piece of furniture of your own,

                             across from an African,

                             a Carribean, and an American.

                             I see you and know you are different.

                             I hear you and know I am different.

                             I look into your eyes and

                             I am reminded that your blood

                             is red like mine. 

                             Ye, to meet you is to meet a man.

                             It is to meet the best artist in Canada.

                             (according to my stepmother)

                             To meet you is to meet a familiar soul,

                             a friend, a brother.

                             To be in the presence of a canvas

                             blessed by your strokes

                             above a futon for a bed,

                             in your home you graciously invite us into,

                             is to be in the presence of magic,

                             divine skill, genius, culture,

                             dedication and discipline.

                             It is to be in the presence of God's Love. 

                             Even your porn is not un holy.

                             Behind half open blinds

                             naked nipples tell sacred stories-

                             like of two old abandoned row boats.

                             Their former owners no longer able to

                             make a living from their labour,

                             become fertile soil

                             for unwanted flowers

                             that want to live

                             even in the most unlikely of homes.

                             Your faces behind glass walls and windows

                             reflect my own face;

                             often feeling like you.

                             Like I am on the outside looking in

                             through phantom barriers. 

                             With every color and detail of your soul

                             Ye, you are revolution.

                             You, through your art, your smile,

                             and your presence in this country

                             are healing the gap! 

                             I thank you for your momentous gift

                             of one of only two acrylic paintings

                             you have ever done.

                             A small masterpiece,

                             clothing your wall like skin.

                             Not for sale...a gift...a piece of you.

                             Finely etched, perfectly still pottery.

                             Grey, beige, earth, blue, orange; alive! 

                             Your beyond generous act

                             and your painting will be cherished.

                             And will remind me always of you,

                             will remind me that you and me and we,

                             are all unique pottery

                             moulded from the same clay.

                             Namaste