Arctic Fox – New Poem (First Draft)
In my hot and sticky dreams last night,
there were three arctic foxes,
close to us,
sniffing our trousers,
licking our shoes.
We had to leave them,
they took it well.
we went for a quiet walk
across fields to the garage
to buy cinnamon rolls and biros.
Birds hit the sky, scratching at the clouds,
and there he was, a small, delicate silhouette.
Part light like the white inner bark of a birch,
part dark like earth.
Fur covered feet like a hare,
warmer coat than a polar bear or arctic wolf.
Our tongues went slack, our eyes burnt.
We were on common ground with this mythical creature,
who starts shivering at -40.
And the world
You could have handed me a wasp nest,
and I wouldn’t have cared.
Nothing mattered more than this fox.
We watched until he was so small
I could smudge him with my thumb.
We kicked our heels back to camp
dined on cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate
in tiny cups, so thick it sat on our tongues.
I wanted to cover my happiness
with pastry, serve it as a pie.
It seemed fitting to thank the Norse Gods
in this place where Sleipnir once stood,
where we watched creator of the Aurora Borealis
in daylight, running for the far North
to touch mountains with his tail
and ignite the sky.