Bear Fruit
       

The fruit a bear eats
grows deep inside of the woods.
The fruit you may eat
comes from a supermarket
unless you pick it in a field
somewhere. I was lost
with my children, we were
going around, trying to find
something to do. The bear
with the large radio-collar
got chased up a tree by my dog.
The tiny radio-collar in my brain
could not keep up with my body,
which was depleted and
wasting away like the fruit
a bear leaves in sturdy clumps
across the invisible trail.
Sometimes the lifting of things
takes a lot of time, sometimes
things aren't lifted, like they're trapped.
The story is that there is someone
out there who is waiting,
and this story is true,
and if one writes a poem about it
it is like a tree has suddenly
sprouted inside of the driveway,
a basketball has twirled around a hoop,
a dog has lifted a tired head
to place on your knee,
the soup you have eaten
gets digested and the strange birds
in the field flutter about
like someone whose mind is positively
volcanic, but sits still enough
to look at a bowl of rice in solitude
and then delicately eat.

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Copyright © 2019 James Grinwis All rights reserved
from Pembroke Magazine
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission