Down in the bone myth of the cellar of this farmhouse, behind the empty fruit jars the whole wall swings open to the room where I keep the bear. There's a tunnel to the outside on the far wall that emerges in the lilac grove in the backyard but she rarely uses it, knowing there's no room around here for a freewheeling bear. She's not a dainty eater so once a day I shovel shit while she lopes in playful circles. Privately she likes religion -- from the bedroom I hear her incantatory moans and howls below me -- and April 23rd, when I open the car trunk and whistle at midnight and she shoots up the tunnel, almost airborne when she meets the night. We head north and her growls are less friendly as she scents the forest-above-the-road smell. I release her where I found her as an orphan three years ago, bawling against the dead carcass of her mother. I let her go at the head of the gully leading down to the swamp, jumping free of her snarls and roars. But each October 9th, one day before bear season she reappears at the cabin frightening the bird dogs. We embrace ear to ear, her huge head on my shoulder, her breathing like god's. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS: 2 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE COMING AMERICAN by SAM WALTER FOSS EPITAPHS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HYMN FOR ALL SAINTS DAY IN THE MORNING by HENRY ALFORD QUATORZAINS: 3. RIVULETS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HOW DO I KNOW? by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON IDYLL 6. CLEODAMUS AND MYRSON by BION |