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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pop8pQlWwQo

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You could 

Spend a lifetime trying to recreate

A single, isolated memory

But after a while, or 

After a lifetime, you'd realize

That even if you tried

You never really would.

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                Our house

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                It used to be covered

                in these decorative, felt wall-hangings,

                littered

                with soapstone carvings, chiseled

                bone, antler, seasoned furs;

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                Our cupboards

                used to be filled with hand-thrown

                ceramics, glazed in various colors,

                bowls and plates and

                coffee cups.

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                We used to have these book-shelves in the living-room

                with titles I’d never recognize - The Táin, The Mabinogion,

                The Temptation of St Anthony; on the bottom row

                it used to house these art school textbooks - 

                The Human Body in Motion - with these old,

                sepia photographs

                that might occasionally flash you their tits.

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                There were photos, and paintings, and prints

that’d been framed across each wall - 

family originals, or works that’d then been

traded. When we visited friends,

everyone dressed the same - ponytails,

beards, baggy-woolen sweaters - and they’d drink

their mysterious grape-juice

from cups with curved handles,

while the dogs went chasing tails

or playing, wantonly, with the kids.

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                We used to heat the house with gas, a furnace,

                and in the winter it used to blow. So we’d call

                an Arviatmiut technician

                who always took forever

                and in the interim, we wore our parkas 

indoors, ate cereal before school,

                huddled around an open oven

                with the heat set at 450…

shifted weight between either foot.

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A ski-doo would idle, 

quietly, in the driveway, 

a 1980s Yamaha Bravo, with

electrotechnical stripes…

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big, heavy snowflakes

falling

gently from the darkness and

the yawn of a waking morning 

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as it slowly emitted light.

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