Photo by Kevin Schmidt, courtesy Catriona Jeffries Gallery, Vancouver.
A Sign in the Northwest Passage, 2010.
A series of poems, entitled "Arctic Graffiti," about untangled seal guts, elusive hares and Inuit sculptors in the Arctic tundra.
Blood is scattered like what it is, or jewels around the body of a seal. Belly -up, frozen whiskers, mostly canine snout. Its abdomen is open to the wind like a broken birdcage. Steam rising up. The Inuit hunter’s untangling guts like a bunch of udon noodles. Squeezing the weedy shit onto the ice, slicing out the beet red organs neatly, flopping them into a plastic tray on the boot of his skidoo. They’re good stuff when they’re cooked, he says. Stomach, heart. My boys just love it when my wife cooks these! Paul asks for a piece of liver. Sliding it off the wide blade of the hunter’s knife, Tastes like sushi! When I ask him if he misses Iraq and places like that, he answers, My body’s been craving raw meat. This is the first of three poems. Read the second one.