Going on a Bear Hunt

·   after Michale Rosen

She asks me if I ever read the

book and I say no until I am

standing at the bookstore

holding the white board book

and a few decades disappear.

And I’m there. In my

rocking chair. In Paris. Little Elly

on my lap sounding out her first

words. Going on a bear hunt…

and in our reading she is the

little girl leading the way with

a stick and I am mama-protector,

pulling up the rear. Forever there,

with big arms to scoop up, tissues

to wipe tears, imagination to turn

nightmares into wonder. Now,

puffy-faced, red-eyed, I am all

child. Afraid to feel fears never

felt. Afraid to let go. There are no

arms to scoop me up, no tissues,

no one to turn nightmares into

wonder. No one. But me and

my nightmares to I take myself

today to the zoo, I take myself

on a bear hunt. And I start with

the pandas. Soft black and white

surrounded by bamboo. Then

the sun bears and the Andean

bears and a sloth bear lounging

in a tree. And then the grizzlies.

Two behind a waterfall. A mama

and her baby I am certain. It’s

the gentle nose to nose embrace,

the bowing of the head, the soft

folding into one another.