My Father's Poems: August 27, 2022

Daily Diary, Day 727:

My father wrote a whole series of poems based on his research into the Inuit people. I have no idea why, but they can be quite powerful.

BIRTH STONE (alternative name:  My Name is Krajac

The treasured amulet you seek,
cradled with my parchment skin and withered bones,
speaks only of another round of death for me.
My lichen mask
crumbles, as you pass your academic hand
across my granite brow.

When was the year my charm
of walrus tooth first lost its cunning?
When did the treacherous shaman
fail to please the Spirit of the Air?

Then the bearded seal came not upon the ice
to drink the rising sun.
Then faithful caribou forsook the ancient trails
and left the living trap
a double line of hungry stones.

                        Red blood of the fertile sea ran in my mind.

I could not sleep and wait the tardy seal.
I could not fight my way to caribou alone,
through killing wind, for countless camps.

                        Red blood of the teeming tundra ran in my mind.

Only Karajac remains.
These stones are igloo
for my withered skin.
My ancient name, in death
waits here for another life.

My name is Karajac

—Joseph Locke