Yukon
Let’s go north where time splinters
into a million incandescent pieces and
ravens sing to the tune of the full moon.
We’ll take up the flute, sing each other mad
love songs by the light of a dying fire
while stars ricochet off the mountains
and the river chants a centuries-old hymn
only the bears still know the words to.
When we’ve read all the books
and drank all the coffee we’ll walk
five miles to town; I’ll pick fireweed
for you to string through your lute
and you’ll tell me stories of the moose
we see through the trees.
When winter comes, I’ll keep you warm
or you’ll keep me warm but either way
we’ll wrap ourselves in furs and each other,
drink cinnamon cider and eat peas
we grew under the peculiar midnight sun.
Even though the snow falls in frenzied waves
we’ll dance violently under the big dumb moon,
arms raised above our heads, and say
nothing can possibly go wrong.
- © Catherine Friesen 2022
Catherine is a writer, editor, sometimes illustrator, and all-around nature lover living on the side of a mountain. They majored in psychology and creative writing in their undergrad and are currently working through art therapy grad school. When they’re not reading or writing, they can be found baking cakes, singing to their plants, or getting lost in the woods.
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