Sometimes in the boreal,
his hands of warmth, strength,
hold mine. To speak
is to surface, but I only want
to linger.

Sometimes, I’m in line
at an unfamiliar post office,
requesting his forwarding address.
He’ll need his shirts: hoodies,
polypro, tees to layer,
a Woolrich jacket.

Once he told me of a town
in the Yukon, where two river
systems converge. There,
adventure-seekers leave the road,
travel into the wild. I imagine
this is where he is. I mail
him letters, care of
general delivery.

KERSTEN CHRISTIANSON is a raven-watching, moon-gazing, Alaskan. When not exploring the summer lands and dark winter of the Yukon, she lives in Sitka, Alaska. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing (University of Alaska Anchorage) and recently published her first collection of poetry Something Yet to Be Named (Aldrich Press, 2017). Kersten is the poetry editor of the quarterly journal, Alaska Women Speak.