seawall, whale-tail rock, stone steps,

any boulder will do.

I build a large ring of stones and the tide washes over it.

In ancient days we left iron arrows,

porridge, tobacco, a reindeer antler

and fish bones.

Taboo: Do not dig in the earth—do not reveal hidden objects.

I’ve offered my father’s broken filet knife blade,

a handful of Labrador tea, sprigs of fireweed

tied with string.

The authenticity of place resides in the stories and current beliefs.

Now, we make offerings for the salmon,

of salmon: scales like fingernails,

fish eggs in membrane, the gill raker.

My Elder father and I sit on our deck overlooking

the sea—gauging winter’s snowfall,

and like a noaide,

my father traces stream networks with his hand,

drawing our witness through the warm spring air.

*Noiade: Sámi traditional healer and seer.