As a herbalist, mother, grandmother, business owner and friend—and as someone who listens to the land and works alongside it, not only for myself, but for my family, future generations, the people and communities we serve—I feel deeply called to speak. There’s an “environmental assessment” underway for a proposed copper strip mine just two hours from our homeland. This land holds breath, medicine, and memory. Our land is not seen as just a resource—it is a relative. And I do not want this strip mine to happen. Strip mines aren’t just an environmental issue—they’re a threat to our health, our safety, and our future. Dust, pollution, disrupted water sources—they affect our bodies and our livelihoods. This poem is my offering, my act of resistance, and a reminder: we must protect what cannot be replaced. I share this from a place of heart, care, responsibility, and truth—not just for the people, but for the Land, itself.
You Can’t Buy Back What’s Been Erased
A poem by J. Anthony-Reeves — for Up the Hill at Loakin
They crush medicine roots beneath machines,
the cedar grieves, the moss withdraws,
and the wing above knows what we’ve lost.
You can’t buy back what’s been erased—
beneath the miles of mine pits dug into the ground,
that echo the hush and tears of medicine roots, long gone.
We need land that breathes.
Not bulldozed dirt in profit’s name,
our forest long to exhale their story—
not for markets,
but for medicine.
We need the stories of the land that breathes.
The whisper of the roots,
the rhythm of rain on rock,
the silence that teaches us how to return.
We need ceremony—
not greed for more of that you cannot use.
Not gold in vaults,, or open pit mines,
but truth in a circle,
hands around fire,
voices upon a drum,
a life without taking more than we need or use!
© J. Anthony-Reeves 2025