The days are
Short as midgets
And you my bear
Have bedded down.
Your metabolism will slow
But your body temperature will remain
High enough for hovering over little ones
As they nestle into your fur
Your hot breath keeping them warm.
Neither food nor drink for such a long time,
Sun rising and setting upon your half-closed eyes
The lengthening days of your lingering hibernation.
Fattened, hungry, the patience of a deity.
You are my deity! And
With your better than believed vision
Many a night
You will see the moon bright
And shining through the branches.
Eight weeks from now
You, my mammalian kindred one,
Will give birth to naked cubs
The size of small squirrels
Who in the depth of the dark frigid dusk
Will suckle on your six hot nipples with
Pulsing humming contented pleasure. And
All will be,
As it should, be.
I tussle with my inexplicable furlessness
My strange lack of fur,
Like you will scuffle
Come spring, with your demanding cubs
Who all winter you have kept warm within
Your legs and arms, high protective walls,
With thick inviting fur.
Like a kid holding the string of a kite
I do so long to go
Walking, serenely, down into the forest
Following your prints in the recent snow
And slither like a silent snake up to you,
Once arriving by your restful side
Bewailing moaning cooing soft squeals of deploring distress,
Hoping to fool you,
Black-furred white-crested dark-nosed pregnant sow
Into thinking I slipped out before your time.
Bright lights, this December,
Grate against my senses like sandpaper.
My instinctual animal self lulled into winter-lethargy,
As I blow air from my mouth, clack my teeth, and paw at the ground.
© Susan Lynn Gesmer, Dear Ursus, 2014