The Bear, by Ann Stanford

THE BEAR


(From Grimm brothers)


Rose Red:
We have once more caught
This old humbug, sister.
Here he lies in his shaggy coat
Snug by our cordial fire,
Claiming to be a prince, or a lost Christian in disguise.
There are things of the chrysalis - the butterfly,
Plots that must be hatched, deeds long in doing,
But this is thorough bear, rumpled and earthen.


Snow White:
Remember, sister, other miracles:
The pellet seed, bursting to root and leaf,
The hard green bud to rose,
The thought newborn
That pecks at the skull like a rousing chick.
Great things from small,
The pearl from the ooze,
And the radiant soul
Rapt from its prison in a broken spell.


Rose Red:
Snakes drop their skins, but remain serpents still,
And the moth, long harbored in its chrysalis
Flies as a birthright to distorting flame.
Leaves spurt from seed, but only for the season.
No one has charted the sea-track of souls.
Bears sleep in winter caves and wake up bears.


The Bear:
The forest offers honey, hollow logs
Streams fraught with fishes,
Berries on the hills.
Yet here I ponder.
I am no common bear, for I have visions.
I dreamed I was a prince;
I walked in halls
Brilliant with torches.
Underneath this pelt
I feel the hardness of the golden mail.
Can such dissatisfaction offer proof
I am enmeshed in spells too fine to ravel?
Snow White and Rose Red, divert your clumsy wooer.
Some day we meet the dwarf and force the answer.