Comment on this article

First Call: Cody
by Doris Lynch

Was it the evening Oscar
drove past with his dog team?
When we heard the whoosh of his sled
over the crusted snow? Or perhaps,
the night the stove oil ran out
and the village turned as black
as though the engine
of the world had blown out.

Surely, it was a night when
the Aurora Borealis rippled her
flaming chest across the sky,
and we lay in each other's arms
listening to God's angels
soldering heaven.

Or perhaps, it was a night
more ordinary. A night like any other
when the iron stove spat its sparks
across the floorboards and Orion spilled
his tallow over the sky. A night
when lemmings squeezed
their swag-bellied bodies under our door,
leaving etched snow bracelets
on the counters of the shed.

That night, you little darling,
were cruising along at just the right
longitude, just the right latitude
through the cosmic dust. How lucky we were
to be billeted just south of the Arctic Circle
waiting, waiting.

Your sister slept soundly, her hands
still clutching Good Night Moon
while I called to you with my belly
and breasts. Outside, our chimney,
and the chimneys of all the Inupiat villagers,
poured cloud after cloud of smoke
into the sky, little grey ghosts
that beckoned you home.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]