Ursa Major

You will be lonely some night,

awake in your bed, the usual chorus

inside, only this time one animal

in your chest will break her chain,

the one you’ve held in your hands too long,

the one your father handed you,

that his father passed on to him.

Then, that great bear you’ve been feeding

gruel will claw her way into your heart,

and you will have to choose

between her and the cacophonous choir

who sing of the ever-ascending way,

laurels, pilgrimages, and other things undone.

Look into her eyes. Is she not the promise

you saw at your birth but could not understand

of wilderness and doubt, forests

and cold nights under the canopy of stars

she oversees? The chorus will never cease

their chant, nor will they ever forgive. But she,

while tearing open your heart, can break

the chain so that you, at last, can sing.