Wayfinding
by Helen Dring
He chose her for the way she could,
Eyes closed, nose to the air,
Find her way North.
North was where the wind stopped
And held them in its grip, safe. Broken.
He chose her for the way, fur against
Her collar, she could coax seal cubs
From the ice, fry them without
Gagging. And for the way she held
Her knife against the rock to sharpen it,
More than for her kisses, moist and
Sour against his half frozen lips.
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I really like this poem, Helen. Rhythmically intricate and compelling.
Your use of capital letters, however, drives me a little crazy.
You need a comma after "sour."
*
Ditto to what Bill said, though maybe the comma's not necessary and capital letters never really drive me crazy, but may be archaic, eh? (unremarkable comment, I know, but I like this for reasons I haven't yet thought about, but probably will... tomorrow.)
"North was where the wind stopped
And held them in its grip, safe. Broken."
Love the language and imagery in this. Also love the theme of choosing for survival rather than kisses. Nice.