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.