I May Be a Bear

Painting by Rachel Stribbling


I May Be a Bear


It is possible
that I’ve grown blurred
not only
around the edges
of my clothes
but of my
not-skin-internal-eternal-compressed-fear-
hidden-dark-light

I no longer know
the names
of my fears-yes-but
my joys
either
for example
the horses
running
independently-as-one in the field-hill outside
could be my last
image-thought
and yet I don’t even wonder-why
only
watch

The problem is
happiness-misery
too much
blurred-edge-terror-white-knuckle-gripped-
cliff-dangling-long-evening-river-sitting-though-
I-can’t-swim-joy
The problem is
perspective
as in
too much
consider
a swath
of blue paint
Now add green
Now
yellow
Now red
With enough consideration
all thoughts become gray
not white
and yet I can not not consider
and yet I can not not make a warm hole for myself
to sleep through the gray—wait
no
I’m not a bear
The problem
is that I’m not a bear

The problem is
I’m not sure
it’s a problem
anymore
to not consider
the sunset
viewed
by the hacking-blood
children
who made
my sunglasses
of course
it’s as horrific
as dinnertime
but the aching-hole-puffy-edged
consideration
can only
swell so many times
before
dropping off
It will never swell closed
Yet will heal as void-eye-hole-cavity-dirty-belly-
button-smell-resignation

The problem is that the rising ape
falls
is still an ape
The problem is vertigo motion sickness
the closure of arrival
the ape

is not risen
he rises
eternally
The problem is process
The devolution into cliché
To die nobly
means
the humble
man cleans up the mess
Resignation
is no
victory

The problem is that I may be a bear
a fat-warm-clever-strong-fuzzy-killer
in a world of bears
that kill bears
Do I crave
a fur lining?
No
unless it’s cold out
I crave simplicity
The stoop-shouldered-weight
of concern
gone

change
rattling in my pocket
Dignity
which must be made
I crave an end
which never comes
Cheetos
The simplicity of the
squirrel
and the car bearing down
The tree
and the
tiger

It’s hard
to love man
who loves only
being loved
Because love is not
so much forgiveness
as making one aware of one’s flaws
in order to evince
necessary
change
Process
Love is not
Cheetos
Love is
beets
spinach
(I Love Spinach!)

Questions of love-of-self
vs.
love-of-others
a life crawling
(rising?)
free of its
wrong
beginnings
The mind is not a light switch
Fleas are simple
and all-consuming
and yet
we’ve chosen
questions of personal responsibility
over
the itch
some of us

Outside
the horses graze
nip and chase each other
There are no bears here
Though I remember
once
years (miles) ago
while
hiking
I climbed
a slight hill
twenty yards ahead
a brown
bear stepped
from the trees
onto my path
I shrank
unsure and yet a perfect moment
and yet
vicious jaws
raking claws
blood-killer-teeth
until he turned
saw me
with a startle
and ran
lumbering-fat-terror-eyed-strides
through the trees



CL Bledsoe


I wrote these poems in between classes while teaching high school English. “I May Be a Bear” is pretty self-explanatory, really. All thoughts become gray—the more options one considers, the more paralyzed one can become. And yet an unconsidered life… I did flush a bear, once, while hiking in the Blue Ridge mountains, as described in the poem. After it ran off, I froze for several seconds, minutes, really, and then ran back to my car, trying to warn every jogger I passed about the bear. But everyone I saw had earbuds in and waved me away or ignored me like I was crazy. I returned every day for the next couple months, but didn’t see another bear.

Posted over on Press 1