Today's poem is by Suzanne Roszak
My Mother Chasing Ursa Major
Now she is impossibly young. Now she is flung
out of doors, sails from the drab kitchen
to the scrap of yard. Downhill from the house
a faint hollow of crabgrass, thatch sewing itself together
under scabbed feet. Postholes in the dirt,
little shelters where she can stow her panicked hands.
But not tonight. For once she uses them
deliberately; there is no truce with vertigo. There is
only the blaze and the movement of claws and tail
spinning hungry around her, the bear's great beer gut
hanging loose over the stunned, still world.
Copyright © 2015 Suzanne Roszak All rights reserved
from Fourteen Hills
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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