By Mary Rose O’Reilley
When I imagine my soul
I think of a bear,
shambling across tundra.
I think she’s escaped from a circus,
the scars of a ring in her nose:
fat, loping, patient, untiring bear.
Her paws slap and click
bound for the edge of Alaska.
She will plunge at last
into constellations of ice,
swimming without ideas.
Even there
I imagine her torn muzzle
bent north,
feel in my nerves
her relentless
continual
swim.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Half Wild, p. 35.
