THREE POEMS
Grizzly
She grazes in a meadow, sulphur blossoms spillingfrom her jaw.At this moment she seems so calm, she could be holyif what that means is something like beingwholly unaware of the good she gives,how even her rooting tills the soiland even her shitting ferries the seedsand even her bathing isas I am beholding her this morningas she leans over a water hole, her shadow firstand then her reflection on the skin of the water,and then the splash as she enters, the pond opening,rippling, and the scritch as she scrubsher head with her paw, the great planetof her head that she dunks and raises, shakingthe water in wide arcs, droplets sprayingthe lens of the hidden camera. And nowshe climbs out, water rivering off her fur.And now she is drying that huge headin the long grasses.And here she hunkersover a bison carcass, slowly ripping freethe shoulder. Those precision instrumentsthat work with an ease that seems—yes—delicate.Blood stains the river and stainsthe snowbank and stains the rock.Vessel carrying the chemicals of life—hair and bone, flagella and bloom.She carries them, lumbering forwardas she sinks her teeth and feeds. And feeds.
