Summer, 2020 / No. 45
Here, I am restless under sunsets that endure
all night. Skin smeared orange, pink, yellow, and blue

Thought I’d be alone up north
instead, there’s too much sky
black spruce, sticky poplar, trembling aspen, white birch
gold flakes, grey ashes, purple flowers, pink rock, fireweed

The city had become
a fork in the eye
a boot to the neck
a parrot squawking

Here, I linger thirsty
at the confluence between a muddy river and a clear one
sucking in a thick stream of wildfire smoke
watching the glaciers release silt

Perpetual sun has taught me
to draw the blinds, swim in clouds, dance again, be kind
Emily Pohl-Weary teaches at the University of British Columbia School of Creative Writing. Her book about her grandmother, Better To Have Loved: The Life of Judith Merril, won the 2003 Hugo Award for non-fiction. She is the author of the poetry collection Iron-on Constellations and the novel A Girl Like Sugar. She first contributed to the magazine in 2001. Last updated fall, 2022.