What to Count On
Not one star, not even the half moon
on the night you were born
Not the flash of salmon
nor ridges on blue snow
Not the flicker of raven’s
never-still eye
Not breath frozen in fine hairs
beading the bull moose’s nostril
Not one hand under flannel
warming before reaching
Not burbot at home under Tanana ice
not burbot pulled up into failing light
Not the knife blade honed, not the leather sheath
Not raw bawling in the dog yard
when the musher barks gee
Not the gnawed ends of wrist-thick sticks
mounded over beaver dens
Not solar flares scouring the earth over China
Not rime crystals bearding a sleek cheek of snow
Not six minutes more of darkness each day
Not air water food words touch
Not art
Not anything we expect
Not anything we expect to keep
Not anything we expect to keep us alive
Not the center of the sea
Not the birthplace of the waves
Not the compass too close to true north to guide us
Then with no warning
flukes of three orcas
rise, arc clear of sea water
Copyright Credit: Peggy Shumaker, “What to Count On” from Underground Rivers. Copyright © 2002 by Peggy Shumaker. Reprinted by permission of Red Hen Press.
Source: Underground Rivers (Red Hen Press, 2002)