I feel deeply conflicted about this poetry collection. On one hand, I appreciate the author’s attempt to illuminate the interconnectivity of Indigenous struggles across the globe. There is real merit in the poet’s guiding argument that settler colonialism, in any form, creates shared patterns of resistance, dispossession, and resilience across continents, cultures, and communities. I also value the poet’s vulnerability in acknowledging their own initial lack of education on the Palestinian struggle, and their willingness to engage with it by seeking out resources, learning from members of the Palestinian diaspora, and reflecting on the painful process of unlearning propaganda, particularly that which circulates in the West. That willingness to learn openly and humbly is important, especially in a time when many people are still coming to terms with how much has been purposely obscured from them in the West. The poet’s emotional response — grief, anger, helplessness — is one many of us share as we watch, from afar, the atrocities being committed in Gaza with the complicity of Western governments and media silence.

However, despite understanding the intent behind the collection, I found the tone of some poems difficult to digest. While it’s clear that Smokii wrote from a place of raw emotion and genuine solidarity, there were moments where the work felt uncomfortably centered on the poet’s own experience which shifted the focus from bearing witness to inadvertently overshadowing the very voices that need to be uplifted most. The intention may have been to reach others who are also just beginning to learn, but there is a delicate line between expressing solidarity and unintentionally recentering oneself in a narrative that is not one’s own. In moments like this, I believe it is crucial to step aside and amplify Palestinian voices whose testimonies speak directly to their lived reality. Their voices are not only vital, but ongoing and present; they should not be symbolically absorbed into another group’s experience, even in the name of empathy or allyship. Smokii’s voice, as a Ktunaxa poet, absolutely has a place in conversations about colonial violence. But in this particular collection, the balance sometimes felt off, as if space was being taken rather than shared.

In the end, I respect the vulnerability and political intent behind this collection. It speaks to an urgent emotional and ethical response to injustice. But I also think it’s important to recognize when solidarity risks becoming substitution, and to remain mindful of the power dynamics in whose stories are told and who gets to tell them.

I'd like to thank Netgalley, the publisher, and the author for an ARC. In exchange, I am providing an honest review.

First, before I begin with the meat of the content of the collection, I'd like to address the formating. For me, it was a general issue, and I am not sure if it's just how it is for all kindle readers, or because this was an ARC. There was no clear way to distinguish one poem from the next. They all just rolled into one another like a very long train of thought. At one point, there was a mention of it being the 76th or 90th poem, and I was like, "Oh, I guess I've read that many poems." This made the overall reading experience less enjoyable for me since I didn't know where to stop to catch a beat and think.

Now for the content itself. I do think that the train of thought aspect was an interesting way to read these poems, since at moments, it reflected my own thoughts and what was going through my head. It's weird to have to process that tragedy happening on one side of the world while navigating a more priviledged life in North America. I understand that I have even more societally invested privilege than Smokii, but the parts where Smokii weighs the dual stressors was very relatable to me.

The perspective of someone who has been colonized and sees their trauma happening again on the other side of the world was also interesting, and it wasn't something I had considered as much as I should have before reading these poems.

Overall, I do think this was a valuable read, and I have spent time ruminating on all the complexities between its covers. I will agree with other reviewers that at points it felt repetitive, and I definitely would have preferred better formatting.

Arc review.

This book is just pain and tears.
The book is about what is happening, what happened in the past and is going to be happening in the future.
It makes you feel a lot about the situation in Palestine.
It makes you think.
100 poems.

Thank you so much to everyone for the arc.

My heart was on fire throughout the entire collection.
Sumac interweaves experiences of Indigenous history and Palestinian genocide and how they can find kin in one another while also being vastly different, and it's done WELL.
The poems are a smack on the head for people who are blind to what's happening in Palestine. They yell at you to open your eyes, to LOOK, to see it. It's right in front of us but so many people turn away. It's infuriating and Sumac clearly says, "Enough".
A great piece of work that conveys grief and solidarity and empathy!

At first I had a hard time reading this book. I had started reading it on the NetGalley app on my laptop, and I found the layout of it so so hard to read. So when I picked it up again I sent it to my kindle and things got better from there.
The thing I liked about this book was the raw chaotic emotions from the author. They bleed through, seeping into every poem. The inner struggle between wanting to heal the world but forced to still continue keeping your own head above water. This can be so difficult. This book is not a “light” read it is packed with pain, trauma, and very intense emotion. Take breaks if you need, remember to keep you’re own head above water.

This book broke me to my core. Each poem made my heart ache for the loss and feel a profound sense of hope for a better tomorrow. The resilience of The Palestinian people will never fade. May there be peace for all those who have been lost and for those who are ensuring this oppression in occupation

While Born Sacred clearly comes from an informed and good place, as a poetry collection it swiftly becomes repetitive and centres the individual rather than the issues it is hoping to raise awareness about. I liked how Sumac drew parallels between the experience of indigenous, First Nation people in the Americas with the genocide and displacement of the Palestinian people; the poems focusing on this are powerful and important. Thematically, however, the collection is incredibly repetitive with its messaging and imagery. Sumac's writing lacks range and so over the 50% mark the collection loses its power. The collection is also hindered by the centralisation of the first person singular, distanced speaker. And while the comparisons between 'ordinary pain' (to quote Carol Ann Duffy's speaker in War Photographer) with the atrocities being committed elsewhere, due to the structural choice of always beginning with the speaker, the poet (unwittingly I'm sure) centralises themselves and others the pain they are witnessing. Like many other reviewers have stated, I'd have preferred if the publisher sought Palestinian voices rather than others writing about an experience, which even though it may be similar, is still vastly alien to them. This said, I would very much enjoy a collection from Sumac which explores their indigenous history and heritage (without the comparisons).

I did struggle with this in the beginning. I guess the formatting of the poems did get in the way and affect this, but once I got into the flow of things and I was used to the format, it was very enjoyable with some truly heartbreaking poems, especially when compared to the author's own indigenous history and life.

I would definitely recommend this to any poetry fans.

Born Sacred is one of the most earnest collections I have ever read. Sumac writes with a tenderness that refuses to look away. These poems gave shape and language to what I did not know how to articulate. At times, the repetition felt slightly heavy-handed. Then again, that might be the point.

DNF. I wanted to live this, but there was something lacking, lack of emotion, of passion, which is the worst thing to say about a book like this, but I couldn't connect with the emotions of the author or the message of the poems. I have defended Palestine since I can remember, but this book didn't work for me.

Born Sacred is a charged collection of poems highlighting the devastating the events in present-day Palestine as the ongoing genocide wreaks havoc on the people, the land, the spirit, and the hearts of the Indigenous worldwide.

I liked most of the poems in the collection; I think writing 100 poems across 100 days to document the way the poet thinks and feels was incredibly powerful. But there was a sense of doom that I couldn't quite shake though. Of all 100, there was the smallest fraction that had any sense of anticipation for liberation. It made me nauseous being confronted with so much confusion and unbridled negative emotion. These types of collections, especially those as an ode to an oppressed people, deserves a semblance of hope.

If you're not familiar with poetry, I think this collection probably isn't for you. It's a bit difficult to understand at times, and the format takes getting used to for the full impact of the poems to shine through. It's emotionally challenging; the doom just never let's up.

I personally had a difficult time connecting with it. But I would urge people to give it a read, to experience and empathise with the pain and mourning the Indigenous experience watching a genocide so similar to their own.

I received an advanced reader copy of Born Sacred: Poems for Palestine from Netgally in exchange for an honest review. My rating is a 3.00 star.

This one is hard for me, especially if I had rated this based on the forward. It felt a little heavy-handed. Smokii is a member of the Ktunaxa nation (pronounced 'k-too-nah-ha'), they are also neurodivergent and transgender. I was excited to read something from an indigenous writer and a writer part of the neurodivergent and LGBTQIA+ communities. I had originally thought this was a collection written by a Palestinian writer and was a little confused at first. I think the description of this collection is misleading and makes it sound like they are Palestinian, which is a disservice to the collection and its message on colonialism.

What Gave Me Pause
Back to the forward, I was a little miffed because it almost felt like that one friend who always has it worse than everyone else, like “oh you broke your leg in two places, I shattered my leg at 14 and it still gives me problems, you’re lucky”. Being a disabled person myself, who is neurodivergent, and queer, I am often confronted with people trying to one-up my experiences with chronic pain and spinal cord degeneration and so much more. It is not empathy; it is erasing my experience to garner attention. It also feels like those people who run up to me putting their hands on me or my wheelchair saying, oh honey, I feel so bad for you, can I pray over you? It feels self-indulgent and icky, which shows how experience can trigger us. I am glad I read on though because instead of allowing that misunderstanding to cloud my judgement, I can now whole-heartedly understand what Smokii was trying to say, even though I was just not a fan of the gaze. They opened my eyes to even more personal experiences from the gaze of a member of an indigenous nation.

While this is not a Palestinian own-voices collection, it is a colonialism own-voices account and so much more. That said, I believe Smokii could have focused on the Ktunaxa nation and given us something culturally personal and poignant. I did read a few of the lower rated reviews to see if I was being a little harsh, but I do agree with some criticisms. I am not part of any indigenous nation, nor am I Palestinian so I felt my opinion, in this context, was not valid. But as one reviewer, Omar Ramadan, put it, “There is so much wrong in this book that I am not too sure where to start. From the Orientalist gaze a lot of the poetry is couched in, to the way these poems reek of privilege and attempt assuage the author's guilt for not being able to do anything meaningful while Zionists genocide Palestinian people, to attempting to insert themselves as the voice necessary for this moment and taking up space that is undeserved.” I think that is the main takeaway here “attempting to insert themselves as the voice necessary for this moment”. I can surely see how this can come across that way.

I was not a big fan of the layout. While this might be an issue with the digital copy, the lack of some punctuation and/or delineation in several areas made it necessary to go back and reread certain parts. I am not new to poetry. I am an avid poetry reader, so I get the “no punctuation” choice, but the layout in the version I got made it quite hard to not read as a run-on which always brought me to an abrupt stop and having to go back to reread.

Where It Shines
From their place in the Ktunaxa nation, Smokii speaks of the effects of colonization on not only their indigenous ancestors, but the inequalities that still affect their lives today. I think drawing parallels to what is happening today in Gaza felt forced, though. Like they wanted to write about their own feelings about Ktunaxa colonization but felt in the face of what is happening in Gaza that they had to form a parallel. I tried to read this as just poetry, judging just based on the writing itself. Smokii’s prose, at times, are simply divine and can make the reader forget about the things that feel wrong about the collection.

I highlighted so many passages. Choosing what to share here was so hard. Smokii verbalizes the deep wells of emotion that so many of us naturally empathetic readers feel and understand. What comes across genuinely I the pain and tears and worse, anxiety that feeling deeply and feeling helpless causes.

Take Away
I think given at face value, Smokii wrote what she was feeling, what many of us are feeling watching helplessly from worlds away from what is happening in Gaza. I think so many of us feel the same sense of dread, sadness, and anger. With that said, I think it is important, in these moments, to step aside and give the stage to Palestinian writers and journalist. Lifting their voices so that their struggle is not being compared to or overshadowed by another group's experience. Right now, they need the light shown directly on Gaza. Smokii’s voice and her experience as Ktunaxa have a place and I am eager to read her other published work, You are Enough: Love Poems for the End of the World. I am also looking up more of Smokii’s history online, to get a sense of the writer and their experiences. What I know is that getting the stories, the histories, and the sufferings of any POC in front of white people is essential. In the end, it was the white man who has always been the oppressor, and it will take the white man waking up to put an end to their own horrible behaviors and conquering ways. It takes other white people shaming them and shaming and challenging their ways to force change, because change in this instance has to be forced.

Excerpt from Born Sacred: Poems for Palestine:
“sobbing I watched a video of a Palestinian child crying for their mother
how do we go on? felt the deep well of pain inside me
remembering crying on my own
how many generations taught not to cry? To take it out on themselves?
the least i can do is weep today and let the truth break me open our Ktunaxa nation went to the supreme court to fight for our sacred places
all places are sacred
the court said our name wrong told us
our religion has no space here
the developer of the proposed ski resort said
he wouldn’t call that place sacred
all places are sacred
yesterday they bombed a church in Palestine
a church that was older than the state of Isreal
and i think of how when notre dame burned
financially wealthy white people sent millions
what of that which is sacred to us?
all places all people all children born sacred I will kiss you in heaven”

Encapsulated a lot of the grief and helplessness i felt watching this genocide from afar, and some hope for the future. The author's relationship to colonialism in the native community interwove with their experience and their work in such a painfully beautiful way.

Thanks, netgalley, for this ARC.

Smokii Sumac puts into words everything that I have been feeling over the past year and a half (and more). Through poetry and prose, they describe the pain, confusion, guilt, hope, and anxieties of our times. Positioned in Ktunaxa ways of knowing, they give a voice to the indescribable grief of bearing witness to genocide and colonialism, from Palestine (Gaza) to Turtle Island. This collection of 100 poems broke me, put me back together, and reminded me that at the end of the day we all have one another—we must continue in the fight for collective liberation and find hope in allyship.

Thank you to the NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC!

The day before I read "Born Sacred," I asked someone if there was a word for secondhand PTSD, for thinking about what the sound of planes mean to the people of Palestine every time a plane flies over my house. It's not PTSD, really, and it's not exactly fear, but it's a type of physical pain. Secondhand trauma, maybe. Knowing that I'm complicit in the ongoing genocide despite my small efforts to end it.

Smokii Sumac gives voice to all these feelings and more. As a Ktunaxa poet (and transmasculine person), he wrestles with his own ignorance of distant violence even as he processes ancestral trauma and government erasure. He acknowledges that none of us are free until all of us are free, and admits that he bought a tablet despite knowing how our tech is made. Sometimes, it felt like he was plucking thoughts out of my head. Other times, his comparisons of Ktunaxa history and the Palestinian present reinforced a picture that's come into focus only too recently for me.

It seems that there are 100 poems in this collection, but sometimes the ARC copies I get have formatting issues. In my versions, lines breaks were erratic and there was no visual distinction between poems. I have no idea where poems began and ended, and their overlapping themes and recurring imagery made this read like one long piece that all blurred together, which is how the last year and a half or so has felt.

I will always encourage people to read Palestinian voices first, but I felt---and I think many other readers of similar age and circumstance will feel---immense kinship with Sumac's articulation of how surreal it is to balance resistance with practical everyday concerns, or to make dinner while being constantly aware that people whose names and faces are as familiar as a friend's (Bisan, Plestia, Motaz, and in my case, Ibraheem) are under siege and starving. I very much recommend this collection.

Solid poetry collection done by an Indigenous Canadian poet as they witness the ongoing genocide in Palestine.

This poetry collection is as beautiful as it is devastating, yet, extremely necessary reading. I encourage everyone to read this especially those of us who were fighting for Palestine everyday for the last year and a half now.

With every poem I felt my heart constricting and my breath sucked right out of my lungs; I relived so many horrors I repressed and buried deep within me because I couldn't manage to cope with the livestreamed genocide. The use of repetition and cascading words really nails home the sinking feeling of the grief and madness that came with standing up for Palestine. Yet in it was strength in community and comradery.

Reem. Precious Reem. I'll never forget her and the poems including her ripped my ribs right open and took my heart with her. Every face and body came rushing forth with the grief buried deep within me. These poems are full of emotion, rage, anguish, and crushing depression; I felt every last raw evisercating feeling a person could feel. And yet, these poems helped me, it reminded me that you need to feel your grief collectively instead of suffering alone and in silence. There is no strength in solitude and we must rely on one another.

I really adores the inclusion of the author's Khutaxa language and translations, the concept of reconciliation woven throughout the poems really helped ground the grief into action and hope. There is hope in grief and we can continue to fight together.

You can feel the sadness on every page. The similarities in past, present, and eventual future. Brilliantly written, makes you think and absolutely makes you feel.

I thought the preface was a brilliant break down of how deeply rooted the hunger for land can be and how closely related the continued assault on Palestine is much like the perpetual taking of inches of indigenous communities' lands. Throughout the poems, there are continual similarities shared between the history of both issues, and it's like being in the middle of watching history repeat itself-- even with how the pages are set up often, there's this past and future, and present marked by the movement between the two. You can feel the sadness that feels universal of just watching this happen in clips on the news.

Yo se que tengo que leer la descripcion del libro y no basarme en el titulo o en la portada. Tambien se que el arte es una manera de protestar sobre las injusticias del mundo en el que vivimos, pero, hay veces que se vuelve muy repetitivo y quiero creer que si, en parte el libro es original, siento que estoy leyendo lo mismo que en otros libros con el mismo tema.