Her son leaves for school in darkness,
returns in darkness,
six months out of the year.
And she too leaves while the stars still shine,
breath steaming white,
heading to work in the bone-brittle cold.
Something in her loves the icy stillness,
the deep snow stretching unbroken
on either side of the cabin where they live.
In the heavy blackness of noon,
she thinks of the last leaving flock,
flying with strong wings towards the east,
heading into where the sun would have risen
down in
though, coming down to rest a little
in the wilderness of her backyard,
before they vanish for the winter.
But she knows they will not stay away forever,
despite the tundra’s vastness,
the air’s coldness, the dawn that never comes.
If they do not return, she thinks to herself,
it will be their loss.
