There is a bear in the house – his angry thuds
shudder the walls.
He lumbers for prey, which can be anything –
a kitten will do, a woman, a small, wincing child.
His gait is explosive at times and, raging, he towers over
the two of you cowering tightly,
creating a clan of three crescent moons,
concentrically huddled, like Russian dolls
within dolls, in dolls – bloodless, only bloody.
By some grace, his hibernations are frequent
with whole afternoons or evenings of respite, and
after a good rest he is calm, eerily so, and with time
transforms before your widening eyes:
though impossibly tall, he’s down now on all fours.
The thick neck thins, elongates – fleshy lips replace the scowl.
Peering from coiled woolen fur, his eyes soften and swell,
until, long-lashed, angelic he’s a bear no more,
but something rather ….llama-like,
lunching laconically on a cud,
as is usual, between transmogrifications.
And then, due to some small infraction,
as swift as sudden wind ripping from the north,
he bursts to full girth – a behemoth on giant paws,
his claws wicked spikes.
The humongous mass casts a Colossus’s shadow
on claustrophobic walls – the tender vapory eyes
now Satanic. Steel.
The attack is vicious, but you remain statue-still.
You wish yourself a rock.
You think, be rock, while in reality you feel a flailing
as of a thousand phantom limbs.
Finally slaked, he lumbers clumsily to his den
where the foraging is worse, but it’s cooler, and dim.
It’s grown late: light has forsaken the treetops –
you and your little one lie face to face on kissing pillows
arms flung over one another, a conspiracy in darkness.
You whisper tiny things or tremulously sing,
to lull yourselves to sleep. You feel the rapid heartbeat
in her back, which slows, as her expirations deepen.
For now, you are safe, as if by some pact —
prone, no longer prey. Numinous. Inviolable.
This night, you dream of the sea
Oh yes, the sea! where the broken go to heal –
Your dream is yellows and greens –
the Aegean, which you’ve never actually seen –
and, to be sure, treacherous things lurk
beneath the glitter of even those welcome waters.
Charitably, though, the dream does not delve that deep,
but remains warm in hue, unlike you!
in your mate-less humbling.
So you race toward the sea, and deliciously plunge –
free of the gargantuan belly
the yowling yawning maw
the inevitability of dawn,
the certain insensate LUNGE.