Lizzy Burnam 🐞

The bear has no Marquis in his eyes, 
no twinkle of schadenfreude in his humor, 
no well-intentioned confidante who 
will leave the cabin unlocked 
with fresh meat piled on the welcome mat. 
The bear leaves blood on his paws 
and lets the rain take its time 
clearing the muddied marks of violence. 
The bear is dumb and hungry. 
The bear sees salmon red 
and is not reminded of his mother, 
auburn hair braided wet and glimmering
like a fish down the curve of her spine. 
I do not drown in the depths of the bear’s love. 
The bear would not call it love. 
The bear doesn’t hate me either. 
The bear will spook and back off
if I make myself big, 
if I scream, if I kick, if I throw stones.