Had I remembered my goggles, had the wind not slung darts
of sleet at my corneas, had I been able to keep both eyes open
at the same time to watch my teammates, my six huskies pulling
in their harness, hooked to my off–road rig as we trained
on gravel roads, and had I tucked hand warmers into
my gloves so I could feel rather than see if my fingers
still gripped the steering wheel, I might have noticed
it even sooner—
how it sat, hunched on the muck of a freezing
pond, listening to some restlessness, how it pointed its rapier
head to where the late–fall sun might have been, unfolded leaden
wings, launched its blue–gray bulk skyward, and juddered
the air as it flapped overhead, as if to say, do not go
on, you fool, fly south instead, as if I could,
as if I was not bound to this tundra,
this day, these dogs by our bottomless craving
for cold.
Click here to read Kathleen Kimball-Baker's compositional note.
Image: Dog sled by Emil Larsen, licensed under CC 2.0.
- As If I Could - December 22, 2023