I Am Kháganê

By Alexis Smith

Yeisú yáadu uháan means “We are still here.” Alexis learned this phrase from an Elder in her community.

I am the wind that whisks away the eagle’s down

I am the smell that you get after a rainstorm in the forest

I am the smell of cedar, vanilla, coffee, and smoked salmon

I am that feeling of pride that you get after catching your first fish

I am the sweet smell of sweetgrass on a warm summer evening 

I am the deep and mysterious Pacific

From where I was born of seafoam and salt 

I am a person of the upper black sandbar that you get from the waves washing minerals and seaweed onto the shore

I am the feeling of excitement that you get from speaking your mother tongue

I am the daughter of the Kéet that are mighty and free

I am the raw feeling of hope that echoes through the valley

I am the lone eagle that you see flying above

I am the ancient sound of drums that still echo in the mountains

I am the copper tináa that I wear around my neck

I am the sound of the rain pelting at your window in the night

I am the feeling of the warmth of the sun tickling your face

I am an ancient totem that lays lost deep in the cedar forest

I am the comforting smell of my grandma’s tanned moosehide 

I am the feeling of euphoria 

I am a Tlingit dancer 

I am a young woman who dances and sings as if to scream “We are still here!”

I am the words Yeisú yáadu uháan that were spoken by my Elders

I am the eagle mask that I dance with pride

I am from many worlds

I am Kaska, Tlingit, and I am Norwegian 

I am the sweetness that comes after the tart from a cranberry

I am both the rage of the ocean as it drowns you in vigour

And the peace of the ocean as it crashes against the shore

I am the sound of the waves welcoming me home

I am the special seaweed that I can only get from Juneau, a reminder of where I first came from

I am the calm after the storm

I am summer’s last fruit and flower

I am the vast and endless mountain range of the Yukon

I am the calm you get from archery as you breathe in and draw the bow, and the feeling of release as your breath carries the arrow to your target

I am the feeling of childhood wonder so simple and pure

I am the fiery passion that only the dreamers and poets get

I am the passion that burns so deep within that it explodes

I am the sunset that hugs the mountains for just a moment longer

I am the sun, the moon, and all of her stars

I am the Yuka, the dancing lights across the sky

I am the sadness that was left from another matriarch who walked into the forest

I am also the hope, passion, and knowledge that they left with me

I am the honour that comes from being the last with my name

I am the feeling of all who are like me

I am for those Indigenous kids who don’t fit in because they could pass as a colonizer

I am that feeling of frustration from not fitting in anywhere

I am that feeling of confusion that I get when told “You aren’t dark enough” or “Not white enough”

I am the feeling you get when you burn your status card in front of those who made you have one

I am that feeling you get as you smile looking into the flame

I am the feeling of decolonization as it falls down on you with ash

I am the sound of the echoing rattles from my Ancestors 

I am the feeling of disgust that I get being called a name that does not fit

I am the one who wants to be a lawyer who speaks for those who can’t

I am Kháganê and I will not be silenced.

Alexis (Kháganê) Smith (she/they) is a young 17-year-old Tlingit/Kaska woman, an emerging writer with aspirations of pursuing law in the near future. This poem marks her first published piece, an achievement she holds close to her heart with deep gratitude. Grounded in her culture, she finds a comforting balance through traditional dancing, time spent with loved ones, and a strong connection to the land that continues to inspire her voice.