Erosion

 

My eyes are slate grey, I am glacier-carved,
Like the hills and valleys of the Chugach.

The heart of ice holds no remorse, it drives on,
Breaking bones of boulders, scraping bedrock,

Grinding proud moraine to dust, then dissipates.
The age of ice since passed, The kiss of sun awakes

The bears, who grope for salmon in the streams,
The moose, who stumble in search of willow leaves,

The silver birches, gripping toes in shallow soils,
The dark-green spruce, needling bitter oils.

The fireweed waves along the frigid river,
A gathering of tears from snowy weather,

Where salmon jump and dream of Eklutna,
The fish camp of people south of the Ahtna.

The people now discard their salmon roe.
Tire tracks criss-cross, scarring the tundra.

The people prize an ooze from ancient swamps–
Black gold, it fuels their movements and their lamps,

But Salmon Woman has not yet left the waters.
She stands and lures the fish and the sea otters.

The new peoples will crumble to dust, she knows,
So she bides her time, smiling among the shoals.

Today I toss a stone into a slate grey stream,
Tomorrow, I’ll slip and tumble along to the sea …