It's 30 below zero and we
have said goodbye to the daylight, surrendering
to shadowy darkness, 24 hour moon, trudging
our way to school, past Stuaqpaq, which, to me,
might sound like "Snackpack," hiking boots,
black Gator masks, funny looking fleece hats,
our exposed skin screaming for cover.

Pausing between the A.C. stairs and Cab Alley,
in the lee of frigid North Wind, I hear
above murmuring motors of early morning
vehicles and the hum of the building:
snow.

Iced white chips, spiraling downwards
toward my boots, as quiet as time,
Earth song, like a rainstick
Falling, tumbling over the North Slope.

-Kersten Christianson
10/15/02