ARCTIC MEMORIES

What I remember is that polar bear,
lying stiff in Simon's front yard,
the fur around its heart stained.
And that walrus head we found
washed ashore near the Point.
I have photos of a beached Beluga whale,
a creature larger than some planes,
the whaling crew captain
posing on the top,
his fists raised in victory,
as massive slabs of meat were carved
and hauled away on snow mobiles.
Some days red, green or white
Northern Lights lit the sky, and every fall
the waves thickened with cold
until the ocean stopped moving.
Then, there was the salty
taste of dried seal,
the ripe flesh of wild duck,
the endless chew of whale meat.
The inescapable wind.
The persistent darkness.
The way sixty below zero numbed
my skin, eyes, and teeth.
And how our hands grew unwilling
to expose themselves to such cold
and gradually stopped
reaching for one another.