This is not the smoke of colonial rod
of scarred encampments, the prodding stick,
of the fires where infants were tossed.
This is not the smoke of the gift of grog
of paternal authority, of children stolen
of lubras raped, of smug denigration.
This is not the gift of denied genocide
of suicide in the white washed cell
of herding and terror and shrieking mothers.
No! This is the gift of purification
This is the gift of cleansing the spirit
This is a blessing, an impossible gift.