they spoke slowly like dolphins slowly like volcanic eruptions of how their ocean is growing taller of how their home was decreasing
and then you were shown the giant incisors of the ocean waves cutting like beavers through thick trees cutting through the cliffs that crumbled like cake
they spoke slowly like stars glowing in the night they are the children of the ancient footpaths their huts are filled with the dark waves their eyes grow out of the ground like tall rhododendrons
then you were shown the plan of their village you were told how they were captives there among the oil drums and the heaps of rubbish bags and you were reminded of how they used to be free
run away, sleep with the polar bears in the ice caves and stay there until all this goes away
the ocean is upside down it’s head is a great deep monster growling in the deep ocean trough and with his many tiny toes he runs beneath the sky
the ocean is an upside down giant his head is stuck in the ocean depths and on a million legs of wind he hangs from the sky
the deeper you go down to his pillows of rest the more you tremble his voice is the sound of a deep sea whale his mouth can swallow a fallen star
Newtok, A New Beginning BY KATIE ORLINSKY The Yupik village of Newtok in western Alaska, population 380, is sinking as the permafrost beneath it thaws. Erosion has already wiped out nearly a mile of Newtok’s land, and it is estimated that in three to five years it could be underwater. The entire village is in the process of moving to Mertarvik, a new village site about nine miles away. Newtok is the first community in Alaska that has already begun relocation as a result of climate change—pioneering a process that many other Alaskan villages may soon undergo.
So I got to Mornington Station and went the wrong way well of course I would I always do. Unfamiliar places, easy to get lost. The studio was in the basement of a huge house, very nice and relaxed. And Felix made me a cup of tea with a marsh mallow and off we went.
Several people re sat around a dinner table. I do not know who they are; they seem nice, friendly, unassuming. I do not see their preoccupations with each other.
They pass the salt, they pour the coffee, I like that the sun is shining, at how relaxed I feel with them, at how well the meal was so well organised; a family meal that has been happening every day for years.
Their clothes are clean and well fitted. The table cloth is clean. Items on the table include a pen and paper, a radio, a bracelet.
At one point in the meal they were all passing something to each other, their arms were folding at the elbow, swinging from the shoulder a motion that surrounded the table like a paper chain. Then they put their arms down and began to chat.
The wife spoke and as she spoke the salt cellar exploded like a small volcano and everyone was surprised, she though, not seeing the miracle or the response to her table talk just laughed.
The husband a few minutes later said something. The olive jar cracked open and the olives rolled over the table’s edge. The birds from a nearby tree flew down, do birds eat olives, and ate them.
The dinner resumed. The two twin girls started arguing over the chocolate mousse which stated to bubble and in the bubbles could be seen dark wicked eyes appearing. The mother told them to stop squabbling and be quiet.
The guest began to tell a story of his recent travels abroad. I was in Valencia recently he said and the gravy boat capsized like a ship and spilled over into the lap of their son’s new girlfriend.
This all hinted at the secret life of the family. I asked for captions to appear above their heads to show what they were really thinking.
The husband liked the son’s new girlfriend.
The wife was having an affair with the guest.
The twins were both in love with their tennis coach.
The group dispersed to various rooms in the building and the husband to his garage. The attractive maid came out to clear up the table. Suddenly on a distant hill a house caught fire. A fire engine passed by and all the firemen were singing