A friend of mine
Wrote a cookbook
He named it Tawâw
Cree word for “come in, you’re welcome; there’s room”
A worthy telos
I think about this word when I see
Creative people, maker’s making
For soul’s sake
Celebrating fellow artists
Citizens of ethereal Athens
To write about connection feels trite
The word has lost its meaning
Swirled about by students writing banal essays
A philosopher’s unique underworld
Who must appease a pulp Cerberus
With constructive feedback
Influencers selling mirage experiences
Repugnant Hermes; disregard his missives
Do not give them credence
Tawaw bequeaths wisdom immortal
A much older word
More right and pure
Than any colonial construct built on capitalism
Turtle Island’s Philophrosyne
Connection commands
We engage with one another
To validate poeisis
Don your sandals for a long campaign
Action is required
Tawaw says there is room for you
But demands nothing
An invitation without expectation
No energy required to sit
To breathe the same air
Friendship is more like Tawaw
Than connection could ever hope to embody
Invite someone into your world
Without needing them to be
Anything but themselves
Devoid of pity or manipulation
Admiration without pedestal
When I see his book in the world
Love’s labour brought to life
My heart sends him warmth
Hestia’s gift
From my hearth to his hearth
Artists, writers, dancers
Envision beauty
Forge it from raw materials
Eternal Hephaestus reborn
Our maker’s space is an invitation
To others
Welcome
Come in
There’s room for you here
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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