From the Ashes: My Story of Being Métis, Homeless, and Finding My Way

by Jesse Thistle

I SAW A GUY ON our range at the sally port talking with an older man in a red-and-grey uniform. The geezer wasn’t stiff like the guards. He had a peaceful presence about him, but still a hardness about his body language, like he’d been one of us, like he’d done time in the past. “Who is that?” I asked my cellmate. “That’s the chaplain.”