I face the stars
in an empty tundra flat, no one
for miles near, no one knowing
I am here
so that I do not exist other
than in memory and expectation;
except to the dogs that pull me,
the snow, the tussocks
that bear our weight, air
sucked and blown in our breathing,
ravens flying over,
lemmings burrowing under,
the wolves, fox, lynx, marten…
that wonder
what I am up to
with my bundled sled;
and except for my own mind
that is not frightened of itself
in the silent space, facing the stars
the sisters of my mother
winking.
-Mary Kancewick
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