CRACKED WALNUT
  • Home
  • About
    • MEMBERSHIP
    • Donate to CW
    • Contact Us
  • Newsletter
  • Books
  • What's New?

GREENLAND
by Francine Conley


“According to Inuit culture in Greenland, a person possesses six or seven souls.
The souls take the form of tiny people scattered throughout the body.”
––Annie Dillard

 
Small islands drift below I’ll never go there and Look the Norwegian
                   seated next to me on the plane says Swollen the moon he means is
full and alive as the snow below hazy as powdered sugar melts on my tongue

 
We are flying overseas I am a fireman the Norwegian says to me
                   flexing his biceps and Down there he adds She skis Greenland
his English so broken I am not sure if he dropped her there or wants

 
to forget her like the burning rooms he enters but his lips are opal
                   are full he takes my hand and pulls me toward the window we look out
and I am inside the night Michael and I ran through snow deep in


a forest where the moon set between branches made the night not black
                   but indigo I couldn’t keep pace the drifts locked my knees
but Michael was a gazelle so fast he leaped and reached the cabin first


still running looked back laughed his mouth open wide as ecstasy and
                   flew straight into a glass door that shattered
he turned into shards sliced into his body his face like a snow flake


glitters though one big shard shivered so deep into his bicep a round
                   blue muscle fell out steaming into the cup of his
hand so when I reached him the snow at his feet went red the world
 

went red shafts of light from inside the cabin lit the dog who watched
                   from the window as we looked at each other and said nothing
and Michael calmly put the living thing back into the slit of his arm

 
the way the sky calmly puts the sun inside itself each night the way
                   Michael who came out and was disowned by his family
calmly put himself back into death last week I heard he cut into his


wrists and was found alone in sheets soaked red a note said who am I
                   when I am not wearing my body but that night we ran
his insides spilled out of him and he was not afraid and in time I lost
 

touch or do I mean I never touched him I just left him like an island
                   there is no way to hold everyone together no way to put
a life back into the world once it leaves us afloat Michael I am finally

 
flying over Greenland but it is gone I mean it is not close enough to touch
                   I think as the Norwegian leans in his muscles safely contained
inside his skin and asks me knowing What is it you are so afraid of living

Here the audio for this piece at:
​http://www.tinderboxpoetry.com/greenland

Proudly powered by Weebly
  • Home
  • About
    • MEMBERSHIP
    • Donate to CW
    • Contact Us
  • Newsletter
  • Books
  • What's New?