Katuq.¹

By Abigail Chabitnoy

i

Move the dark one stroke

at a time.

Free / breast / key /

back /

one stroke

midnight

one cerebrovascular accident

later.

Everybody acquires enough

levity

without ground

underfoot

without falling

under.

The children play their string games.

See, the sun is caught.

See, ikauwiitiit qutmi et’ut.²

ii

There are those of us who might

survive this / still fish

in the sea / still enough single organisms

under radar.

It’s not a choice, nothing—we were born

to a rising sea, sapurluni.³

Look, those who see

in the dark /

light one step

at a time.

iii

My father gave me a book

so I wouldn’t die.

He knows more / he can tell

in a nuclear family /

survival is silent

and casts pale shadows.

It’s not that I haven’t learned

to hold my tongue—

It’s just

there are so many mouths—

It’s just

the breath is a fragile thing

to hold—

It’s just

they should speak while

I can—

Tamanta qutmi ⁴—

iv

We want to get through / in America /

naamacuarluci ⁵—

write poems with a pen

heavy as a bullet

the color of real money

the smell of blood / metal

to show you we are deadly

serious in our intentions

speaking as one of the participating

generation.

The current is strong / the boats have run

aground

the kayak is small

the waters getting high—

Every body acquires enough

buoyancy.

Kayunguq eh?,⁶ war-born children write

for rain to put out the fire.

We draw new lines

in the margins

empty our pockets of paper

gesture at the blaze

boast how we can make a fire

our bodies adapted to breathe

smoke.

We have need

to gather, see

Qutmi etciq’ukut.⁷

Notes:

1 Gather (people).↩︎

2 The sparrows are on the beach.↩︎

3 Blocked. Weathered in.↩︎

4 All of us on the beach—↩︎

5 We eke out an existence (lost word). ↩︎

6 It’s stormy, eh?↩︎

7 We will all be water/front.↩︎

Source: Poetry (July/August 2022)