Igloo You run your trapper's eye up and down my spine, train white huskies to draw the sledge, white ravens to follow it, and burn across sheets of ice singing passionate Inuit chants, transporting me northward: to your igloo, filled with brown jugs of pickles, cod and crystallized blackberries, pebble blue pots of tea. We show each other skin, hair, teeth, our incisors' precious metals, our azure tattoos. I flaunt my royal birthmark, you counter with an old arrow wound. You touch and wonder at my ritual striations. Wolf packs howl to see the igloo steam and glow. In a thousand miles there is only one gold lamp. Beneath the gaze of its warm iris you rub your beard over every scar of whip or harpoon. We forget our merciless tribes. Margaret Benbow Margaret Benbow is a poet and fiction writer whose poems and stories have appeared in many magazines. Recently, the collection Boy Into Panther and Other Stories won the Many Voices Project award and was published by New Rivers Press.
1 Comment
Nan Park
1/1/2022 11:37:54 am
Charming, beautiful poem!
Reply
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
The Ekphrastic Review
COOKIES/PRIVACY
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies. Opt Out of CookiesJoin us: Facebook and Bluesky
July 2025
|