Inupiaq Women

She paddles and streams 
her kayak up Kobuck River.
At daybreak, 
she passes the salt flats into  
the glass water; she skims 
for cod and chum,          hand over oar,
            hand over oar, 
ripples tightening the drawstring
on her parka. A taffeta of cold air
hits her cheeks; they are sun-
wind chapped, a sign of Inupiaq women
subsisting for their young families.
In body, in Inuit, she thrives on the bleakest
ecstatic love. Here on her knees,
in her seal skin buoyant boat,
her duties of her village complete,
she knows her place among the caribou 
women. She knows her children 
with their earphones on, 
while playing video games, 
will not follow her in the knowledge of ice, 
dressing a caribou, preparing dry-fish, 
jarring jellies, dip netting hooligans, 
purse netting whitefish, tracking 
and setting traps for marmot, squirrels,
arctic fox and wolverines. She thinks 
of the children, hand over oar; 
they will stay at the village, carve 
for cleaving water with Inupiat hands.