torn labels

male bear

when i was young my father went to th mountain. not year-round though,
as he came home in winter – to hibernate deep in th wood panels of his den,
surrounded by slides and 16-mm videos. he had names for th bears, and I
often wonderd if they rememberd him. when spring came, he’d go back to
mt katami – as regular as th thaw.

in late autumn, when he came home, th mtn followd him in through th door
like a glacial draft. for months he wouldn’t take off his boots. he slept in his boots,
in a sleeping bag. his beard grew winters and eventually th few words
he ever spoke became grunts. 

in spring, when th back door was no longer frozen shut, he’d step out onto
th hard-crusted snow with his yellow pelican case and a coffee, stop for a
moment, and survey th hillside across th river. then, walk across th backyard,
through th gate and start his truck. gone; a hunter w/o a gun; bootprint father. 

then, one year, he never came home. 

my sister and I became th carrion of a spring morn. six ft of snow
meltd to reveal imprints of small souls in th frozen ground. 

in my night dreams, leafless trees stand crookd atop misty hilltop horizons
like skeletal hands reaching from th ground; a river flows with th colour and
consistency of deep amber whiskey pourd from a full bottle; silvery-brown
meadows lay open and empty, collecting th precipitation of my fears. 

th scene, season after season, year after year, remains th same – th wild and
empty stage. missing beneath th pine-pillar heavens is my father and
his bears. i know they’re in behind th treeline, or peering down from
alpine zones, but never do they move into th'open. 

unsettling is th feeling that they watch me from deep in th forest,
eyes buried behind layers of growth, seeing me love and fuck and fight from
their cold comfort. come out! spirits have nothing to offer and this path
cannot be part of your trail system – show your faces; do not den in my
night dreams. 

# posted by hardyf : 10:16