The Page Called Qanik
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| Image by BBC |
The Page Called Qanik
At dawn the world exhales qanik,
feather-light flakes drifting down like unspoken vows,
each crystal a syllable the sky has practiced for centuries.
They gather into aput, the honest word for snow,
a white grammar rewriting the tired verbs of yesterday.
Underfoot lies maujaq, soft and deep as a held breath,
a cushion for the future’s first uncertain steps.
Powdered hollows whisper pukak, granular sugar-snow,
the quiet residue of storms that learned patience.
Across the open plain, wind lifts piqsirpoq,
drifting snow braided into ghostly veils,
as if the land itself were pulling a clean sheet
over the restless dreams of last night.
Beyond the river’s skin of sirmiq (hard ice)
and its tender rim of nilak (freshwater ice),
the morning opens a door called now.
Even utuqaq, old snow hardened by time,
softens at the edges, loosening its grip on memory.
Everything begins again in qanik-light silence—
a language of white, saying: step forward,
the page is blank, and it knows your name.
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I love that you ran with different words for snow, Chris. Therfe is so much to comment on. My favourite lines are:
ReplyDelete‘feather-light flakes drifting down like unspoken vows,
each crystal a syllable the sky has practiced for centuries’
and
‘drifting snow braided into ghostly veils,
as if the land itself were pulling a clean sheet
over the restless dreams of last night’.
As poets, we welcome blank pages, always hoping they know our names.
"the honest word for snow,
ReplyDeletea white grammar rewriting the tired verbs of yesterday."
OMG! This is awesome
🎇much love
Chris, for a person who is intimately acquainted with the many moods of snow, your poem is a delight. Like you said, we're old friends ("it knows your name".)
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this fresh and varied perspective on snow immensely, Chris!
ReplyDelete...this is lynn, anonymously
DeleteSnow's snow. Call it what you will. Ick. (Ick the snow, not your poem, which is WOWZA good.)
ReplyDeleteChris, this is an epic write .. using the Inuit words, brilliant. This line will linger a while in my mind: "The morning opens a door called now."
ReplyDeleteI love this... I know that the more snow you are having the more words you have. It reminds me of the book Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow... growing up in Sweden I would now a few words that are specifik to snow that don't exist... nowhere close to the inuit. I think the sami also have different words for snow... whenever you have to travel over snow and ice for a longer period of time more words are needed.
ReplyDeleteI love how the Inuktitut have such a range of words for snow. You have done a beautiful job here. I would recommend publishing in a journal. (There are over 100 journals the accept work previously published on a personal blog: https://zumpoems.com/2025/10/14/poetry-publications/)
ReplyDeleteGreat idea and execution! And I learned some new words!
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderful! I love the use of the languages (lovely words!) and the idea of the blank page.
ReplyDelete"a language of white....the page is blank" - nicely written 👏
ReplyDelete