Ice crunches under my mukluks
    as I shuffle down the snowy path.
Seal skins and walrus hides, staked out to cure
    freckle the frozen tundra.
Huskies curl beneath powdered blankets
    tuck snouts underneath warm tails.
From wind-blown roofs of Inuit huts,
    ice crystals spray sparkles onto my lashes.

At the Trading Post villagers gather
    not to buy or sell, but to warm and talk.
In spite of whiskey and white man's bread
    elders dance, chant, beat the ancient drums.
Telling stories, passing down a heritage to youngsters
    whose eyes glaze doughnuts, soda-pop and candy.

A black-haired boy snuggles onto my lap.
    He holds up five brown fingers.
"I'm this many," he says.
    His jade-eyes widen proudly,
"I'm half Eskimo, half Coastguard."
    We share a powdered-sugar doughnut.
It leaves a ring of sweet snow around our lips.

©1995 Shinan Barclay. All Rights Reserved