Nunaqtigiit (people related through common possession of territory) by Joan Kane
The enemy misled that missed the island in the fog, I believe in one or the other, but both exist now to confuse me. Dark from dark.
Snow from snow. I believe in one--
Craggy boundary, knife blade at the throat's slight swell.
From time to time the sound of voices as through sun-singed grass,
or grasses that we used to insulate the walls of our winter houses-- walrus hides lashed together with rawhide cords.
So warm within the willows ingathered forced into leaf.
I am named for your sister Naviyuk: call me apoŋ.
Surely there are ghosts here, my children sprung from these deeper furrows.
The sky of my mind against which self- betrayal in its sudden burn fails to describe the world.
We, who denied the landscape and saw the light of it.
Leaning against the stone wall ragged I began to accept my past and, as I accepted it,
I felt, and I didn't understand: I am bound to everyone. |
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Copyright © 2013 by Joan Kane. Used with permission of the author. |
This week, Academy of American Poets Chancellor Arthur Sze serves as guest editor for the Poem-A-Day series. |
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