Read an Excerpt from SPRUCE TO CEDAR, the Debut Poetry Collection by Lasänmą

One unique life takes shape across northern and coastal landscapes in Spruce to Cedar (Brick Books), a debut collection that follows a young woman from childhood into early adulthood with a steady, unfiltered voice.

The poems move between the Yukon, Northwest Territories, and Vancouver, tracing how place, memory, and language shape a sense of self. Experiences of family, culture, and solitude are carried forward, with English, Southern Tutchone, and Dene woven through the work. Writing with clarity and restraint, Lasänmą focuses on what is lived rather than explained.

Direct and grounded, Spruce to Cedar stays close to the realities of growing up and moving on, holding both difficulty and possibility in view without overstatement. We're delighted to share a suite of poems from this exciting debut collection!

An Excerpt from Spruce to Cedar by Lasänmą

Here is the extracted text from your second PDF, carefully formatted to preserve spacing, line breaks, indentation, and visual structure for clean pasting into publishing platforms.

---

raspberries taste like Łu Ghą

like two sisters hovering over bushes
fingers stained pink
plucking fresh red berries
under the summer sun
general assemblies
fishing camps
Ä́tsųą s̓ cabin
sockeye salmon stream
windy days
Chùschwa s̓ store
selling beaded earrings
a bridge that must never be crossed because—
a bear might get you!
flip flops & learning how to tie shoes
Ä́tà’s burl bowl kiosk
tourist taking pictures
without asking me
so they can go home
& tell their friends
look, a real indian!
fishing gaffs hung on the wall
burl wood countertops
& dollar store coffee mugs
candlelit nights
card games crib & go fish
silent snores
i peek out from under covers
stories of bigfoot keep me awake
if i fall asleep
surely heʼll kidnap me
another sunny day rears its head
Semo says—
donʼt eat the raspberries! they’re dirty!
two sisters sneakily hover over bushes
fingers stained pink
plucking fresh red berries
peeking over shoulders
before they feast

icy tarmac

snow flurries

vancouver snowstorm jostling the plane as we take off
i’m flung about on my seat
horrified faces painted on

```
strangers ,
```

& iʼm

smiling taken back to
spring 2008

driving in the bush
imaginary roads

willows whipping the truck bed
scraping along windows

as weʼre shaken about
on our hunt for burl bowls

---

gravel rd with no end

a white van dubbed war pony
leaves dust clouds
in its wake
wheels catching every bump
& pothole
nausea
the stench of walmart plastic bags
burns nose hairs
as i wait for the moment
the gravol doesn’t work
suitcases jostle
next to a red cooler
mackenzie hwy
is a gravel rd
with no end

---

moments of you

sparkle in my eyes when i find the perfect jean jacket
denim stitched with february skies

embedded with chainsaw gas & wood dust
pride in my heart red ac/dc logo branded on chest

cotton grey like the alaska hwy
work trucks with bloated speakers fly past

leaving electric guitar solos echoing in the treeline
nostalgic ears pricked an old rusted truck gurgles down the street

exhaust clouds like frosty december mornings
radio blabbing weather reports

. . . whitehorse teslin atlin haines junction & the kluane lake region . . .

cigarette cravings, second-hand
desperately breathing in polluted air

—claiming i donʼt have a problem afterwards
bangs curling over my forehead

just like yours used to
not that long ago

---

Äzįzha

clouds swirled around her like oat milk in iced coffee
her aura could take me away
cleanse me from my past
claim my sorrows
smudge my sins
& prepare me for
something unfamiliar
she whispers promises of growth
of healing
of prosperity
she spies through autumn leaves
watching over us as the smoky clouds swirl in the night,
marbling
underneath her light

---

Tsʼùkʼaymą

spruce sap, needles, & bark.
dry meat, fish, & butter,
moose meat rolled into sushi rolls.
the last-minute trips to burwash & haines.
the way your soft hands gripped the steering wheel
lightly jerking the car left & right—

yet you got scared when Ä́mbada drove.

calluses cover your fingertips,
a testament to the decades of meticulous beadwork—
the slippers & vests made from your hands
as you sit at your desk with the tv on.
your strong fingers gripped mine
when i last saw you—
& i wish i d̓ lingered longer.

before your home turned into dust & embers
i d̓ play with knock-off legos
as vhs disney movies played over & over.
taco & candy, two chihuahuas
sitting strategically underneath tables
scouting for scraps, while
Ä́mbada & i waited patiently for you to leave the kitchen
so we could open & close the fridge door
to see the light turn on & off
because Ä́tà removed the bulb in ours.

you d̓ take us on laundry trips,
paying us with vending machine pops
& trips to frosty s̓
where we d̓ sit in your indigo van
& people-watch as we ate vanilla soft serve.

---

on easter & christmas, we gathered
at Ä́tsu ̨ Khįą s̓ home by the lake,
& during potlatches, you d̓ make sure i ate
hooligan, fish, eggs, & pilot bread.
during halloween
we d̓ visit your house & you d̓ give us extra chips
as you & Ä́tsíá ooed & awed over our costumes.

you took me in at fourteen,
giving me a reprieve from life.
giving me lessons in Dän Kʼe
& room to breathe without error,
without consequence.

you showed me medicine—
spruce sap, needles, & bark.
you fed me
dry meat, fish & butter,
moose meat rolled into sushi rolls.

---

how to say i love you in Dän Kʼe:

1. taking down a moose in the fall
a. harvesting its meat
b. a gift to the community
2. keeping some moose for your Ä́ghàałan
a. cutting meat into strips
b. hanging it over the woodstove in the basement
c. until dry
3. showing your Ä́dzüą secrets
a. where you pick blueberries
b. where you harvest whitefish
4. sewing your little ones moccasins mitts & vests
a. wolves beaded into hide & fur
5. fixing an extra plate at the potlatch
a. because you couldnʼt make it to the feast
6. climbing up the hill next to the mountains
a. roses in hand gift for my Ä́ghàałan
7. wrestling during ufc fight nights
a. commercial break showdowns where the adults tickle
b. & children punch
8. Ä́tà taking me on nature walks
a. teaching me spruce & willow medicine
b. teaching me how to trap rabbits
9. packing Ätthän Gän into lunch boxes
a. with spam sandwiches & bepsi
10. wearing Ä́tsu ̨ Khįą s̓ headscarf
a. paired with my biggest pair of beaded earrings

---

i havenʼt seen my ancestors in two years

my home a memory of vibrant greens purples & pinks
the northern lights still dance without me

---

Gátsʼäda

wood dust floats
in the air
layering gravel dirt
like a blanket of snow
drill bit whirring
light pressure
burl bowl concaving
spruce burl transformation
bandana respirator
dust covering hair
black band t-shirt
& steel-toed boots
dollar store sign
sanded down
etched anew
in my next life i want more money
burl trees
red hot wood burner
scorched handwriting
yukon -:spruce burl:-
’05 by:Del
resin-covered wood
hung on basement rafters
drip drip dripping
from bent & flattened metal
bumpy backwoods trails
willows whipping truck beds
stick-shift driving
burl bowl hunting
target acquired
benign bumps
swelled & cracked bark
chainsaw re-re-revving
wood dust floats
in the air
layering mossy ground
like a blanket of snow

---

christmas dinner

prayer near the campfire
four generations of women
reunited
spruce brush nestled atop snow
we huddle close
the sun setting behind the Dehcho
i hold a bundle of tobacco in hand
all my love etched into skin
they’re praying to god
& i’m praying to Ä́tà
i’ve been lost since he left
but i see him everywhere
i ask for guidance
i tell him i miss him
& i wish he was here
i sprinkle tobacco into the fire
& i linger behind
while distant family go inside
to eat
i stare into the flames
& allow tears to fall
onto snow & spruce needles

she yells i love you across the bar

she did this every time her shift ended before mine,
or when she visited to study & chat on her days off,
her arms extended over her head, creating a heart.

at first, i froze—
i still do sometimes,
my response stuck in my throat,
the words jagged & sharp.
i force stuttered replies,
not sure how to respond, but knowing i should.
i canʼt help but remember Ä́tà s̓ words:

i love you is too strong.
i only say it when i mean it—from the heart.
only to family, only to you kids
& your mom.
someone says they love me, i just respond
all my love.

it takes months of work & many i love you’s
so now when she shouts across the bar,
her arms stretched over her head,
i yell back
i love you too—
because i do, & she doesn’t have to be family, a wife, a girlfriend,
she can just be my friend
& as the words spill out of me, it feels right.

not everyone needs to be Ä́ghàałan to be loved.

& i need to remember—
not everything Ä́tà says is gospel.

---

the first to rebuild after fire

the first to take root
the first to stand tall

& shout
you canʼt bury me

the resiliency that brews in the pink & purple hues
the envy i feel of the unity

as fireweed covers the charred forest floor

i want to have the courage of a fireweed
to be as stubborn as fireweed

Spruce to Cedar. Copyright Lasänmą, 2026. Excerpt printed by permission of Brick Books.

_________________________________________

Lasänmą (she/her) was raised in Haines Junction, Yukon and is a member of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nation. Her English name is Mariah MacDonald, and she is a part of the Wolf Clan. Mariah lived in Haines Junction and Whitehorse before moving to Vancouver at the age of twenty-one, where she studied at the University of British Columbia (located on the unceded Territories of the Musqueam, Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations). Spruce to Cedar is Lasänmą’s first published work as an author.