by Tanya Tagaq
I mount his back and ride him. My thighs squeeze him and pulse with a tingling light. We are lovers. We are married. He swims with incredible strength and we travel quickly. He keeps me safe and I am drunk on his dignity. The smaller bears shrink, only to be eaten by engorged shrimp. The ocean grows hot with life after the offering of food. My skin melts where there is contact with my lover. The ocean and our love fuse the polar bear and me. He is I, his skin is my skin. Our flesh grows together. His face is my pussy and she is hungry. My legs sprout white fur that spreads all over me. I can feel every hair form inside of me and poke through tough bearskin. My whole body absorbs him and we become a new being. I am invincible. Bear mother, rabbit daughter, seal eater. Bear lover, human lover, ice pleaser. I will live another year.
Tastes like an echo
When I saw you haloed by the Arctic moon
Sundogs around your head
The moon slicing
Bitter darkness
We sipped the air
It was too cold to chug
Alcohol was our excuse
To steal a snowmobile
And ride away from life
To the far cabin
So we may chart our bodies
And share flesh
We rode so free
Until we ran out of fuel
And you ran all the way
Back to town
I timed my exhalations
As the cold knocked on my lungs
And slapped my cheeks
The Moon awoke
He became brighter than the sun
And told me to have your child
He told me
Then you emerged out of the twenty-four-hour darkness
The gas can strapped to your head
Inuk style
And I died with longing
As the calm drowned me
Science class. The chubby boy beside me is wearing tight yellow track pants that are pulled up too high on his waist. I can see his cock and balls. It makes me uncomfortable but also fills me with a strange glee. He has not showered in a while and has very greasy hair. I draw a picture of him and send it to my best friend across the room via paper airplane. My friend and I are separated in every class because we cannot keep a straight face and stay quiet. She’s like a battery pack for my rebel machine.
I feel remorseful picking on Yellow Pants but it seems that in order to maintain any standing in this hierarchical house of horrors you must get close to the Alpha by shitting on Beta. The Alpha is pretty and malicious; she dictates the social environment with an iron fist. All the girls flock around her trying to gain favour in the hope she won’t become displeased and sic the rest of the pack onto her. I skulk around her periphery, hoping to skirt the fine line between being cool enough to not get my ass kicked and geeky enough to be ignored. It works most days. The boys covet her attention as well. She dates the best boy, the cute one. He is agile and intelligent, belligerent and cocksure. He is brown and dreamy. I usually cannot even look at him, but today he came up to Yellow Pants and me and asked if we wanted to come to his friend’s house after school. I turned red and said yes. Alpha is laughing at me. Yellow Pants gives me a dirty look. He wants Best Boy for himself.
After the bell rings we follow him down the street. It’s storming and visibility is low. We show up at a delapidated matchbox house. It is already dark again. It is the After School Dark. The rusted hinges complain when the door is opened. There are holes punched into the plywood panelling. Walls come in all forms. Let’s punch holes in them. Some of the doors have been ripped off their hinges. The furniture is threadbare and the cupboards hardly have any food. Three of us have shown up, and we join the two boys that live here. I have no idea where their parents are. The boys are eating pilot biscuits and lard and I am aware this is their dinner. “Always be thankful for all that you have,” my mother told me. There was plenty of famine in the past, in our history. Famine can live in your bones and be passed on to future generations just like your hair colour. There are many ways to be empty. Let’s fill all the holes and punch all the walls. We get some plastic bags and go into the back room.
There are rusty metal-framed bunk beds on one side of the room and a single foam mattress on the floor. There are no sheets on the stained foam mattress but a threadbare blanket clings to one corner of it. The windows have garbage bags tacked over them for curtains and we lock the door by jamming a butter knife into the door frame. We stuff some socks into the hole where the doorknob used to be. We have some naphtha, gas, nail polish, rubber cement, and Wite-Out. It’s a Bring Your Own Solvents party and I want to let the colours shine. We take turns sharing the bags, not caring if we drool into them. My favourite is the rubber cement and it makes me sad when I have to give it away. Then I stop caring which one I have and there is only the High. Only fragmented faces and the sounds are filtered through a black hole. Bright flashes of colour are changing and dancing to the cadence of my breath. In a moment of spontaneity I walk over to Best Boy and kiss him. He kisses back. His flesh simply becomes heat and his teeth grow into mine until it starts to hurt so we stop. Our mouths are bleeding. We begin to laugh so hard we are crying. He walks me home. Ice in lung, flush of cheek, and solvents in heat.
THAT TIME
Your skinny legs and bucked teeth
Gave no hint of your scathing bravado
Even the Big Girls were afraid of you,
steering clear
of your sudden slaps and rigid kicks
I watched you pull on two pairs of pants
to hide your frail toothpick legs
while you told me you’d kick me in the cunt
if I ever fucked with you
You told me your mom told you
to stand up for yourself
no matter what
Even though you only reached our chins
you stood up for me too
That Time
in the Summer Midnight I wanted to be brave
like you
So we stole my parents’ quad
and opened the gas tank to breathe in
The excitement
The iridescence
The speed
We crashed into the church
after getting drunk on the wind
As you lay motionless I found out what prayer was
begging that you breathe again
That Time
we lost our hash in the musk-ox rug
and laughed until we were crying
Biting into orange rinds just because
the citrus blew our minds
That Time
We shared men without jealousy
and shared our love secretly
Then my time came to protect you
the night he wanted you but
you didn’t want him back
I threw him down the stairs
and I finally felt strong enough for you
That Time we made love
after you grew up so beautifully
Our Secret Summer
I visited you once in adulthood
you had moved South
Where the trees
breathe in salt water
I watched your children breathing in
salt water too
The Ocean dancing in their eyes
instead of Ice
Then you died inexplicably
Buck-toothed girl
I hope you reached peace
It’s just the morning and it’s already a Bad Day. Alpha found out about the kiss. I’m going to get my ass kicked after school for sure. Moping about it won’t help. The gym teacher’s breath smells like actual shit and he’s chosen today to have the longest and most uplifting, morale-boosting, intimate talk at me while I cringe in the corner. How can he not know that poop is coming out of his face? Can’t he smell it? I ask to sit out today’s class but he keeps going on and on about never giving up. I’m too embarrassed to tell him that I have my period. “Mo
ral tenacity develops into technical fortitude” is his motto. We play volleyball in gym class. We lose because I suck at it. The deep-red-faced embarrassment of letting my whole team down because I’m too afraid to be good at the Thing is stoking the flames of insecurity.
I strategically act up in class to try and win a detention. It’s cowardly but it works most days, since Alpha won’t care to stick around to kick my ass if I have a half-hour detention. I’ve never been ashamed of being a coward. I prefer the term ultra-cautious. The bell rings. One hundred lines of “I will not tickle the teacher” and off I skulk, making arbitrary small talk with the janitor to extend the time in the safety of the school. I exit from the back door and scurry underneath the building. There are large rips in the metal meshing so this timeworn route can be used for escape. I hear footsteps approaching from around the corner. Time to be silent. If Anana had made my parka cover white, I would be camouflaged in the snow. I wish to employ the remarkable tactic that many Arctic animals do, shedding coats and changing colours with the seasons. Camouflage equals survival. Snow White and Brown Betty.
I wait to make sure the footsteps are receding. Sensing movement, I realize there is someone down here with me. It’s Fox. He’s looking at me again. I have to decide whom to be more afraid of, rabies or Alpha and company. Alpha wins the Fear Game and Fox is slowly making his way to me, scurrying left, then scurrying right. Remaining still with intent, then circling. Finally Fox becomes comfortable and is a mere foot away from me, face to face. He smells a lot better than the gym teacher. There is a rising heat in my belly as he looks at me.
Fox is more beautiful than any human I’ve ever seen. I can feel him. Clean, strong, devoted to survival, and unburdened by all the falsehoods that humans subconsciously subscribe to. Clarity. Dignity. All of what we have lost as humans is transparent in the eyes of one who lives from the Land. The tingling sensation returns in my face. It feels as if my face is elongating. I see you, Fox, and you are a child and a killer. You are bigger than I and you will have a better life and death. You are penetrating my body and changing my flesh with your eyes. Beckoning. You want me to Become with you.
No. Not yet. I am afraid. I collect my Wall and put it up between us. Fox scurries off towards another hole in the meshing. I follow my new friend. He will lead me to safety. Fox goes through the hole first, and abandons me. The hole is jagged and a lot smaller than the one I crawled through to get under the school. I am halfway out when my atigi cover tears. My mom is going to kill me. Attempting to rip the mesh into a bigger hole does not work because my mitts are hindering the dexterity of my fingers. I take them off to untangle my atigi from the metal and my fingers stick to the meshing for a second because of the nervous sweat on them.
Cold does not tolerate moisture in any form. I leave my skin behind. They are only cells. Any warm, wet surface will instantly freeze to metal. Children often find this out the hard way when they are very small, usually after one of their friends has dared them to stick their tongues onto the slide or swing set. The worst example of this I have ever seen was a kid with his tongue stuck onto a merry-go-round, and the other kids kept spinning and spinning him until he barfed. The warmth of the barf released his tongue and he went home sobbing. Poor kid. I’ve now almost freed myself from the mesh. Yes, there! Finally able to stand upright, I assess the damage to my atigi. The hole is fist sized, that’s not too bad. Alpha and friends come around the corner just a second after the wind brings the dry crunch of their footsteps as a warning. This is the wrong type of snow for a good warning system. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction and did not deliver me Sound. Fuck.
I’m running. Hair in face, ice in lung, heavy of foot. Sometimes they are too slow to catch me. They usually can’t keep up, because I run even faster than the boys. Today I wore my heavy Sorel boots instead of my kamiit and therefore I am slow. One of Alpha’s cronies throws a rock and it strikes at the base of my skull. I fall.
I arrive home with a bloody nose and hair full of frozen phlegm. Spit freezes so quickly; it’s a good punishment to get it into the hair. The hot shower is so good. All the evidence goes down the drain. I will not tell my parents about this. Parents let children work out their own social problems. I let the experience go down the drain with the water. No point hanging on to such things. Ultimately, in the scope of the universe, this is a small event. Trauma does not choose you, you choose if it is trauma or not, right?
Sleep has left me because “Born to Be Alive” is blasting in the living room. My feet hit the floor and the carpet feels extra pilly on my soles because of the depth of sleep my body was in. Damn drunks. Addiction is anything that feels good in the moment but ultimately makes you feel worse, a degeneration of the psyche that takes shape physically. All our weaknesses add up and become our strongest adversaries. It is fuel for self-hatred, insecurity, self-pity, and martyrdom.
Booze in belly,
Hollow of soul,
Impoverished of Morals,
Out of control
I look forward to the morning, when everyone is back to the people I love. A glimpse into the living room reveals ten people in the process of driving away their Protectors. This always seems like the goal. Get fucked up enough that the shell of who you are gets cast off, leaving room for who you don’t want to be. There are evil beings in the room near the ceiling waiting to take over the drunken bodies, Grudges and Frustrations slobbering at the chance to return to human form, to violate, to kill, to fornicate; Old Spirits conniving and contriving more strife. Fuck this. I get dressed and sneak out of the house. When your body is clear there is control. When your body is clear you can choose whom to let in. There is love everywhere.
Please cradle my rabbit heart. Please navigate yourself around me well. I know too much. I can recognize darkness because he is my brother, my maker. I can drink lightness because it is the only way to survive. I can shut off my heart but that leads to evil, so I express her and revel in the nuance of blood currents, and the sacred demons. I fear and quake with my eyes darting fight or flight love or die. The lightning comes from below this time and rips out of my throat for the world to see. They all see my rabbit and I have trained her to hunt. In her perfect glory she is shy and extroverted, chaste and perverted, my sweet near-death more alive than ever. Take her. Take me while I am ripe and open, rub berries on my lips and bear fat in my hair. Tattoo me with a needle and impale me with your warmth. Heal me, fuck me, and work my heart till she beats strong and unafraid. Haunches bared, teeth sharpened, wide-eyed and aware. Hurry. I want to feel safe.
The Northern Lights are in the sky. It’s not too cold outside. Sun comes out for hours at a time now, and eventually she will drive away the Northern Lights completely. I walk out onto the sea ice until the town is a small glowing orb on the horizon and lie down. The flat land and the flat ice make the Sky endless. They say time is relative. It is. Humans have misunderstood time. Time is not rushing by. Time does not obey the clock. Time obeys physical laws like matter does, but it can control matter as well. Time is Matter. Time is alive. Time is aware. Time has weight. Time mates with gravity to put you back into the earth. You do not travel through time; time travels through you, drives you. Time is your conductor; time is your demise. Time sleeps beside me as I lie on the surface of the ice to help my heartbeat slow and body temperature drop.
Peace enters me. As Body grows dormant, Spirit awakens. Body is so crude, viscous and lumbering. Spirit has learned to hibernate within the confinement of mucus and gristle. Our meat keeps Spirit occupied and distracted. Our electricity ensnares Spirit and our flesh entraps it. We will spend our lives trying to contemplate and encapsulate the divinity of Spirit, only to blunder forth and never relax into letting the Communication happen.
Our minds are our prisons. There are secrets hidden in our flesh. Our cells being born and dying with the same force that makes galaxies form and deconstruct. Context. Perspective. Scale. Our galaxy is a proton. We are everything. We are all and we
are nothing. Everyone has the niggling sensation that we are missing something in this world, but I have the key.
The ice begins to beckon the heat from Body. As Body goes limp and Mind goes quiet, Spirit awakens and collects in my chest, using the energy and currents in wave and wind to generate strength. I push Spirit downwards, using Intention and Will to separate from and abandon Body. Body does not want Spirit to leave, for that normally means death. It takes a lot of calm coaxing, convincing, and contracting to have Body give Spirit permission to leave. Gently reassuring each cell that Spirit will return, I feel for an opening in the ice and find the smallest crack and slip into the Arctic water below. The water does not feel cold but feels like syrup; the viscosity of the water changes because Spirit moves through it differently than Body does. I want to look for Sedna but the current is strong, and if Spirit becomes lost Body will succumb to the cold.
I can hear all the algae; they are happy to see me. Rotating and celebrating, microbes twist and turn in Life Dance. Small shrimp and tiny organisms sing welcome and give thanks. Life pops forth brightly and death is a soft exhalation. They are not so much living and dying as glowing and darkening. There is no light without darkness and death is life. Spirit anchors a sinew-like rope onto Body and travels downwards to the ocean floor. The bottom of the ocean is like a stadium event of Life as I slowly spread myself out to hold and love as many creatures as possible. Spirit drinks from Life. This is the secret.
Spirit is already divine. We must feed Divinity with devout intent and Spirit grows stronger, cleansing and returning to reality upon Death. What happens before birth and resumes after death—this is more real than the brief spark of life. Our lives just carry the physical burden of carrying energy forward. We put on suits of meat as training, as a challenge. We all know this is temporary.
The ocean current calls to me and I realize that Body is slipping away. It takes every ounce of energy I have to travel back to the surface. It’s laborious and very slow. For one terrifying moment I am trapped under the ice. The small crack lets me through and I get back up into my cold and dark casing. Ice in mouth, crack of vertebrae, and song in spleen. It takes a monumental effort to wiggle my toes and open my eyes after the Exploration.