When White Hawks Come
I dreamt the spirit of the codfish:
in rafters of the mind;
fly out into the winter’s
mirth off alder tendrils sashay;
while I set up
my winter tent;
four panels long—beams suspend
I sit & pull blubber strips aged in a poke bag;
I’m shadowing the sun as a new moon icicle
time melts when white hawks come.
Copyright © 2020 by dg nanouk okpik. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 30, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.
“Traveling in dream state, waking up, as fast as I could, to write this piece, in bed. The dream ‘sashays’ as the poem is in constant movement but ‘suspended’ in old man forest. I stayed there in the blue night in ‘mirth,’ rapture, and in laughter.”
—dg nanouk okpik