BEAR SPELL

dad says lying is one of the great 
human arts – greasing those 
premonition wheels  
strategic, faithless, fateful
warranty
saving face while
muttering grace
not so much intercepting the baby’s head 
from whatever sharp edge
but also not so unrelated – 
mundane morph for safety’s sake,
telling your friend she looks immaculate
so she’ll back off from
reflection
or just polishing 
the gossip
i tell dad about the bear that died 
in the wake of a collective lie
not cause of death, but 
something 
how after the guest cast her protection spell 
around the easement’s edges
the garden started to smell of death
a young bear found right outside
the boundary line
dad thinks it must've been
a sickness
they always find the orphans
in spring
but it was summer, mere feet
beyond the circle, and who would leave
him lonely? 
no-use debate as we cradle
eggs into warring
sister baskets – magic vs. logic 
though the only lie told then
lay somewhere in
between 
(that bears are “rarely" seen)
(knowing the fact of their shyness)
never suffices
(plus omission of the spell’s 
clear success)
withholding also being 
art, steering the power
of the secret itself
to swerve truth’s 
bucking bronco