by Michael Plante

Prologue
In 1953 the Canadian Government sent the R.C.M.P. to Inukjuak P.Q. and Pond Inlet, Nunavut to ask residents to be relocated to the Arctic. This was to have Canadian representation in the Arctic during the U.S.A./Soviet Cold War era. They were told that if they didn’t like it after 2 years they would be returned home. Also, during transportation they were told that their family would be separated and sent to two different locations, Resolute Bay and Grise Fiord. Then the government left them there not honoring the promise they made to return them home or offer support. Abandoned in the Arctic by our own government. Bravo!

This is for them.

Resolute Bay

We are all family in the village of Inukjuak.
When the quietness of the arctic arrives
we hear the ice crack in the dark.
The sound echoes through the village
the arctic wind arrives, and new life begins.
We celebrate under the midnight sun.
This is how it has been for thousands of years.


My distant stare won me the name Missing Son.
I grew up under watchful eyes of family and friends.
I would stand on the edge of the ice looking out into the infinite.
I felt compelled to believe that something was there.
All I saw was death.


In 1953 the Mounted Police came to shore
searching for human flagpoles
that could stand firm upon the arctic ice.
“We will never forget you”, they said.
“And like the tide, we will bring you back home”
With their words on the wind
I proudly accepted the task.


The tides brought me to Resolute Bay
where the beginning of nothing starts.
A chill ran up my back,
as the tide rolled away.
The frost in the air whispered
“You are forever mine”
The silence that followed is death’s home.


I walked into the infinite of the Arctic
It was so wide my eyes hurt.
A blindness washed over me.
My breath felt stolen by the Arctic winds.
My legs weaken by the weight of such vastness
yet I still managed to continue with my duty.


I made Resolute Bay my home.
I would listen to the ice crack in the dark
wishing upon the arctic stars
that I could go back to my village
where family and friends were waiting.


Every year when the ice fields break
I stand at the shoreline longing for my kin.
My shadow stretching across Resolute Bay;
all I have left is my distant stare
and a hunger to be back home.


Those men that made promises
spoke words without honor.
They stole the Arctic’s Northern tide;
the only thing that remains is stone and ice.
I have become the spirit of the north.
I shall conquer death’s realm alone.


On my last day I call across the bay
“This is my stand.”
The bay echoes my cries.
“Never forget me”, I plead.
My shadow turns to stone;
my words carry to my waiting kin
who still themselves on the arctic wind.
They reach towards Resolute Bay
Come home Missing Son,
But the tide fails to return as
the midnight sun holds her breath.