“Paglagikpiñ,” she says, which is the Iñupiat word for ‘welcome.’
You say ‘Oye’ in Spanish.
You say ‘Hey’ in English.
It’s a way to say hello to a friend, a way to offer a friend a place in your heart.
As she speaks, the wind blows strongly off of the Chukchi Sea and cold air settles bitterly over Point Hope.
Even my bones are cold.
Her brown eyes look deeply and kindly into my eyes.
This makes a small warmth in the middle of my belly that moves out over my whole body.
Her eyes are like the earth.
They’re like the plowed ground I’ve walked over almost every day of my life.
They’re like the tough, tender bark of the peach trees I reach up and into during South Carolina summers on Charleston farms.
They’re like the blanket my abuela made from the colors of the flowers and fields of the beautiful mountains of El Salvador.
“You know,” I think as I look back into her eyes, “They’re just like my abuela’s blanket. They wrap me and keep me warm. They show me I am loved.”
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