The Blue Shift

The sun has dipped below the equator 
and the rays that are tangent to the globe 
have been stripped of all heat. In winter, 
reindeer extend their vision to ultraviolet. 
Their eyes are blue stones. 
Light-activated genes, 
turned on and off by wavelengths 
that are bunched together or pulled apart 
by the magnet of the sun. 
Notice, I place no emphasis here 
on the transmigration of souls. 
Tull, Matta said when I asked her 
about Stefan’s little speech 
on the spiritual power of reindeer. 
Tull is Saami for bullshit. 
Fishing is more important for us in Nook. 
It’s nice when they come down to the coast 
with their green eyes, nothing more than that 
But she’s wrong, in summer 
their blue eyes turn to gold. 
At Tjäktja, when the huskies arrive, 
it’s the wild west again as they howl 
and fight for the meat that’s thrown 
from a pot of boiling water. 
When it’s time to settle down for the night, 
they turn themselves into balls of fur.  
They look like they’re plugged into 
one of those globes that make your hair stand on end. 
The weakest cluster in the middle while the strongest 
sleep on the edge of the circle. In the morning 
they go berserk again, more red stains 
in the snow and the violence reaches a peak 
before they’re harnessed to a sleigh.  
Now they set off over a lake 
whose depths they can feel in their bones. 
Once they’re moving, they’re quiet. 
The warmest part of the flame 
burns the least amount of fuel. 
Even if you climbed to the top of Kebnekaise, 
you wouldn’t find the sun. Enclosed in a sphere, 
the further we travel from the core, 
the more the temperature drops 
and the creatures that reach the limits 
of the earth become smaller and smaller 
until they disappear. 
Notice, I make no mention here 
of the transmigration of souls. 
I simply long for summer 
when I might do what I like. 
After midnight there’s enough light 
to pick lice from your shirt. Not now. 
The rays are tangent to the globe 
and the eyes of the reindeer are blue stones. 

Laurence O’Dwyer | Zwicky
Contents | Mudlark No. 79 (2024)