Alaska Shorts: A Trio of Winter Poems by Mary Kancewick

Facing the Stars
for David
Ignatow
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.
Addressing the
Glacier
The highest part
is called the head.  The most
forward end is
the tongue.  The front forms a high
wall which is
called the face…
                                                We
like
six-week old kits
work
at placing ourselves
on
the lap of the glacier,
learning
to use our claws,
chasing
after our tails,
trusting
in the fortitude
of
immensity and age.
We
feel at home
dusted
with rock flour.
Nearly 100,000
glaciers have been identified, yet
most of them
don’t have names…
                                                We
name
the things we own—
think
we own the things we name.
We
own our names.  Or, perhaps
our
names own us—hold us
to
the world as crampons
grip
ice and snow as
glaciers
impervious move.
Tenuous
and
tenatious,
we cling.
River Ski Song
Let
me begin
by
singing how
I
skied the river,
today,
as the sun slipped
back
of the near ridge.  I
stretched
my steps like snares
in
trails made by snow machines,
trails
leading everywhere
in
gamey loops.  I made
more,
in the air, in
my
swallow-heart
knowing:  what
sets,
rises.
Rises
or sets
something
rising.
I
saw color clumped
in
aspen on the islands
on
the facing hills. Willows
held
it on northeastern shores.
My
face caught it, moving towards
the
source.  In pinkness, I
stopped,
landing lightly,
dropping
wings against
my
down-covered
body.
And I
held
it:  The
odd
feeling
rising
in me,
standing
in darkening,
that
the sun had set in me. 
Standing
there, on snow, on ice,
I
felt myself glowing; I felt all the
living
leaning towards me; recalled,
believing,
the classic theory
that
humans throw light,
our
eyes small suns, all
ways
gleaming. I am
saying
now, how I
skied
home.
Mary came to
Alaska in the early eighties to attend the Midnight Sun Writers’ Conference in
Fairbanks.  She never left Alaska. She
now lives in Eagle River with her husband and the last child still at home, a
daughter who will graduate from Chugiak High School this May. Mary loves to run
dogs, climb glaciers and cross-country ski, among other winter enticements.

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