...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH7STFIzj5E

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The Chisel Makes a Scraping Sound 

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as it slowly carves a bridge - 

a footpath between 

soapstone dimples, philtrum, 

and her eyelids.

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He wipes the powder 

from her tearducts

as they crack and slowly open;

he sets his blade 

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towards her ears 

so she might grow 

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to listen. 

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Within her hands 

He places tools -  

an ulu and a net - 

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across her cheeks 

he dots tattoos 

so she might not 

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forget. 

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He blows the chippings

from her face 

as she begins to wake.

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As she births

he hums to soothe her 

below the sound 

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the chisel makes.

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Windblown, soapstone curls

into the street - towards the 

      tundra and the sea. 

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