Bear

“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”
-Robert Munsch

If I’m
not perfect, darling, it’s
only because my
father told me
I’m worthless-

but that would
have made sense since his children
were purchases he
could not return.

If I’m
not stable, my dear, it’s
because the weight
of childish fears migrate to
one end of the scale,
an invincible whale-

I’d fire
the harpoons but I’m afraid of
what he’d do to me
if I fail to kill him.

If I’m
angry and broken, sleepy,
unfocused,
distracted,
soft-spoken,
unhappy,
corrosive,
callous or
prose-less,

it’s because
my roses were always
chosen to be
stripped of all
their reds,

and I’ve
become accustomed to
a constant field
of death.

But you are
their descendant;

lone flower
grown in
a cold snap,
an attack on
my apathy twenty-six winters had
sown and if I never tend another one,

I’ll never let your stem be bent.

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2 thoughts on “Bear

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