Being a Bear

I am a cave-bear, searching the mountains

For a nice place to sleep. I’m sick of the cold

And the dark and getting up early every morning

To walk across wet bogs. I want dry feet.

I want to curl up for a good six months

And dream endlessly of endless things,

Being a flying bear, being a bear with forty-five cubs,

Being a bear who paddles a canoe

Across all the oceans wearing a wool cap. 

I want to sleep and dream. I see a hole

In the mountainside. It looks promising.

When I get there, though, another bear is inside.

She looks at me and growls. Her fur is red-brown.

I smile back, and eventually she stops growling.

We both yawn, we can’t keep our eyes open.

We turn a few circles, scrape out the ground,

Lie down, curl up against one another (Oh!

She is soft!) close our eyes, and begin to dream.