The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by George Moore
after Gonzalo Rojas
We are them as children
are part of their parents. They
speak through our mouths
when we have nothing to say.
They hold up a hand
and the sky is painted
a different color. They trade
for slaves, jewelry, advantage
near the decrepit throne.
I would like to see them
down here, among the lobstermen,
lifting traps from a heavy sea
repeatedly, without rhythm,
straining against hunger,
theirs and the fishes,
impossible to tell them apart
in their schools and futures.
Words on the lips like barnacles
as they haul up a single line.
Bears do not want you, not to eat,
not to carve, not to slap with claws
like they do the trees. Bears believe
in no human being, no involvement,
nothing to do with these creatures
that camp out in the open. Bears
see forms that stand as tall as they
but are invisible, drifting in and out
of cars, tents, and cabins. Bears
do not see the streams, the pine,
the mountainside, for these things
are present through the thickness of
a hide, a shared membrane of world.
Bears come down the trail as we
run the Park, the little one lumbers
off into the wood, afraid. The other,
the mother, charges at full speed.
Bears want nothing to do with us.
They do not bridge that awful gap
except for some terrible driving need.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication