The Girl and Her Bear

The Girl and Her Bear

A Poem by Poetic License

Ever the eager child,
Never contained within the constraints of good sense,
She verily sprinted to the iron cage and its unfortunate occupant.

She had never seen a bear.
Not a real one, not a live one.
Not one that didn't live in a zoo, safely distant from the grasping hands of exuberant children.

There he stooped,
Too large for the cage,
He was unable to lay down and unable to fully sit up.

Had she not been breathless,
Wonder superseding the horror,
She would have let slip the iron latch that held the bear hostage to relieve his discomfort.

Instead, she hunkered,
Coming eye level with her beast,
She whispered to him and watched his tired, cramped eyes track her movements.

She leaned in close,
He smelled wild and musky,
His right eye was filmy, a bit of yellow in its corner, but he looked her straight in her eyes.

She rested there,
Her hands against the iron circles,
A cast iron cage holding a real, live bear, and she decided that he belonged to her.

Her joy overtook her,
All rationality and self preservation evaporated,
Her small hand slipped within a circle at the bear's head and her fingers sank into fur.

She gently scratched,
The bear's eyes blinked closed,
He made a purring, growling sound and twisted his muzzle, showcasing razor lined jaws.

She sat quietly,
Her fingers immersed in the coat of a bear,
And her imagination ran rampant through the mountains upon his broad back.

His claws curled under,
Clacking and clattering on iron,
The moment was broken by massive, masculine arms hauling her up, away and out of the barn.

What had she been thinking?
She could have been killed.
That bear was a wild animal in a cage and caged animals get mean and mad.

Her only retort to the mayhem she had caused?
That he was her bear, and her bear would never bite her.
She wanted to go back to him, to sit with him, to sneak her fingers in to pet him again.

Her uncle shooed her off,
He would release the bear that night,
Her bear would run wild through the trees and come to fetch under a full moon.

She waited.
She watched the moon sink and the sun rise.
The cage stood empty and her heart trembled a bit realizing the bear had not come back for her.

She never noticed the fresh skin hanging high in the barn, left out to cure.

© 2017 Poetic License

Author's Note

Poetic License
A true story from my childhood. The bear was a brown bear, trapped in the mountains of West Virginia. Since that tender age of 10 years old, I preferred to imagine my bear still adventuring in those beloved mountains, scaring loggers out of their wits. However, with adulthood comes reality and the harshness of that reality is that my uncle was a hunter and a trapper. While I never saw the bear skin, there is little doubt what became of my bear. My heart still breaks at the thought that I didn't open the cage and ride him away into the wilds.

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Quite, hypnotical and puzzle like poetry. Almost has a suspensful breeze which reminds me abit of winters bone film and alaska

Posted 1 Year Ago

A nice tale

beautiful writing

Posted 1 Year Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on November 28, 2017
Last Updated on November 28, 2017


Poetic License
Poetic License

St. Louis, MO

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. - Hemingway Fyrene ond fæhðe fela missera, singale sæce, sibbe ne wolde wið manna hwone m&ae.. more..