(Poem & Photography) The Doorway by Sara Wright

Photography by Sara Wright

When I look into his face

I wonder

what he is thinking

as he loses himself

in sweet mountain mist.

He’s alone now.

His fear of the unknown

keeps him vigilant

ears erect,

mouth tasting air

standing on two legs to see

beyond summer’s diaphanous veil.

No wonder he climbs trees.

He’s not yet two.

Did she warn him

about the others

before she left?

 Two legged threats armed

with hatred,

 the need to destroy life

 men addicted to power,

 who will gladly spew fire

 through his gut,

strike out an eye, maim a paw

so he cannot flee?

He slaps at chipmunks

in repose,

 scents fragrant white lilacs

clasps a metal can to his belly,

kicks it down the hill in play.

He bounds

 towards the brook

for a bath,

circles back for protection

takes a nap

  in a thicket of

young pines.

He tolerates me

if not as friend

at least as one

who wishes him

no harm.

He peers around

 rough bark like a child

playing hide and seek.

 He’s curious to identify

to whom I am speaking.

He listens intently

 when I caution him

like an anxious mother.

Do not trust.

Do not trust them.

I am the exception

to the rule.

Most want him dead

Skinned and hung –

a furry black skeleton –

 a shroud on the wall,

his jaws forever frozen

in an impossible roar.

Always present,

Death stands at his door.

Working Notes:

Black bears are much maligned and when one befriends one it is hard to understand why these animals are so feared. They evolved with trees as a prey animal and remain this way today. In truth they are immensely curious and shy animals and the hardest part of trying to study them in the wild is finding one who will tolerate my presence.

Early in the spring the young – yearlings – are tolerant of me, but by this time of year they have had enough terrifying experiences with the men around here to turn them into “night bears”. They no longer trust me.

 In between there are moments of grace. TB loves to smell lilac blossoms, and gets irritable when brazen chipmunks or mice wish to share his food. He loves rubber balls but punctures them immediately. He plays with sticks and pulls tree branches up on his belly, plays hide and seek with me.

Although the transition from day to night bears signifies the negative experiences these animals have had with others – around here – men who use semi-automatic blasts to terrify and wound them illegally – and hunting season draws near, I have at least had moments that we shared in peace, and for that I must be grateful.

(Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright.


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