Fly On
go today
touch your tundra tires
to a gravel bar
dip your wings to the wolves
a bear, a moose, the caribou
fly perfect circles,
in the midnight sun
fear nothing
be restless, only with stillness
like the Kuskokwim,
always in motion
always churning, turning
humor twisted
lips uplifted flaps
in a perpetual grin
fly on
remind us how to soar
how flight without
the pilot
is life without love
an existence not meant
for man
allow the rhythm of
the cub's hum
to become the drum
within us
our hearts, now in two
renewed
until one day we
will fly too
fly on
[By Don Rearden for Seth Fairbanks and the Fairbanks family. August 11, 2015]
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Thursday, April 30, 2015
In Dog Years
1.
she held you in her arms
black and white fur ball
searching the rest of the litter
for her pick
the whole time
you were the one
Lego, Dutch for play
2.
she screamed your name
Lego! Lego! Lego!
into the wind and across the tundra
as you disappeared on the horizon
chasing Chester's team and sled
blizzard coming, surely that was all
3.
I bought you a sled dog harness,
would pedal down dusty Bethel streets
you racing at my side
while I kicked at the gnashing teeth
of those angry you would live
years beyond them
4.
born a tundra herder
you racing at my side
while I kicked at the gnashing teeth
of those angry you would live
years beyond them
4.
born a tundra herder
but you learned to cut cows
in Montana, where
l spurred my horse
with you at my side
5.
too smart to be a sled dog
Myron said, suggesting you
would never pull, and only keep
the line tight enough
and he was right
but you and I would ski-jor
blazing down Anchorage trails
and no one would ever suspect
you weren't really pulling
6.
still in the stinky sled dog harness
you would lead us,
the fake tow line around
one of our waists,
on marathon training runs
7.
in dog years you passed us
but could still handle twenty mile
hikes and bike rides
through wilderness
resting only when inside my pack
as I stumbled across raging glacial streams
8.
I called out in the dark
fat flakes falling in the valley
giant hemlock boughs bending
you off on one of your jaunts
around the neighborhood
just like your father
coyote calls echoed mine
closer, closer
then sounds of battle
I ran for a pistol and flashlight
only to find you struggling up the drive
covered in saliva, snow, and blood
I carried you home, cried, and slept
with you in my arms
knowing you wouldn't make the night
9.
you began to outlive your friends
but didn't complain
or show signs of age
lead us still on long summer runs
and I braced her for the day
not far off now
10.
your father died at ten
a beautiful chocolate merle
I dug his grave in dry hard earth
my tears disappearing in the dust
you would outlive your sister
that fall buried just a gunshot
away from the tundra
where she took her name
11.
headlamp slicing the night
I tracked you across the valley
your prints in the fresh snow
headed towards some dame
I worried
the coyotes or a shotgun
might find you before me
but then your eyes lit up
the brush and you came running
wigging your ass and begging
to be forgiven
12.
you were indifferent
to the new addition
a boy who would one day
play with the toys
that bear your name
but you would show no indifference
when the loose pitbull would attack
tipping the boy inside the chariot
you would give your life
as the screaming mother
could get away safely
until the worker wielded
the pipe that would free you
from the locked jaws
13.
we would begin to add to your
names:
Geezy and Ancient
to the long list...
and still at thirteen you
spun circles when we picked
that old harness,the same one that kept
the pit bull's jaws from your jugular
14.
I heard that a sister
from an earlier litter
lived to be fourteen
and here you are
we call out your name
but you cannot hear
so we clap
your back legs tremble
but you can still walk
the valley and nudge us
reminding to pet you
and feed you at five
15.
7.
in dog years you passed us
but could still handle twenty mile
hikes and bike rides
through wilderness
resting only when inside my pack
as I stumbled across raging glacial streams
8.
I called out in the dark
fat flakes falling in the valley
giant hemlock boughs bending
you off on one of your jaunts
around the neighborhood
just like your father
coyote calls echoed mine
closer, closer
then sounds of battle
I ran for a pistol and flashlight
only to find you struggling up the drive
covered in saliva, snow, and blood
I carried you home, cried, and slept
with you in my arms
knowing you wouldn't make the night
9.
you began to outlive your friends
but didn't complain
or show signs of age
lead us still on long summer runs
and I braced her for the day
not far off now
10.
your father died at ten
a beautiful chocolate merle
I dug his grave in dry hard earth
my tears disappearing in the dust
you would outlive your sister
that fall buried just a gunshot
away from the tundra
where she took her name
11.
headlamp slicing the night
I tracked you across the valley
your prints in the fresh snow
headed towards some dame
I worried
the coyotes or a shotgun
might find you before me
but then your eyes lit up
the brush and you came running
wigging your ass and begging
to be forgiven
12.
you were indifferent
to the new addition
a boy who would one day
play with the toys
that bear your name
but you would show no indifference
when the loose pitbull would attack
tipping the boy inside the chariot
you would give your life
as the screaming mother
could get away safely
until the worker wielded
the pipe that would free you
from the locked jaws
13.
we would begin to add to your
names:
Geezy and Ancient
to the long list...
and still at thirteen you
spun circles when we picked
that old harness,the same one that kept
the pit bull's jaws from your jugular
14.
I heard that a sister
from an earlier litter
lived to be fourteen
and here you are
we call out your name
but you cannot hear
so we clap
your back legs tremble
but you can still walk
the valley and nudge us
reminding to pet you
and feed you at five
15.
I wonder if you
measure our lives
in dog years
and if you count
your days against ours
or if you just live
each day knowing
that today is all
any of us have
measure our lives
in dog years
and if you count
your days against ours
or if you just live
each day knowing
that today is all
any of us have
[Lego turns 15, May 5th ---- outliving all his friends from youth; he just lost another old pal from Bethel yesterday ---- see you where all the dogs go, Blaster!]
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