“Boy and the Bear” by Henry Smith

He would walk to the edge of town at evening

And sit with his back to the fence

digging his hands into the earth.

He would stare through the grove of trees in the clearing

until a large and haggard beast emerged

A brown bear ten feet long with amber eyes came.

He met the boy.

Sat down next to him.

They shared a tired sigh.

And then they spoke.

The bear’s voice pulled and snapped

He cried in pain and screamed the few words he knew

He spoke of the horrors of the forest

The cold of the winter, the trees and their splinters

He cried out, begging to be let into the village

To walk the streets, To tend the fields

To learn to read, To share his home

And the boy sat, shoulders rolled back

And with a cold and brittle voice, spoke of the ways of the world

The laws of nature, the code of creation, the limits of God’s Love,

And with his eyes still fixed on the grove, he told the bear no

And the bear wept.

He wept and he howled and bore his claws into the Earth

And the dirt spiraled out, pulling into itself

Until the bear settled, and his heart shrunk again

And the creature rose

and walked with its head low

back through the grove

Leaving the boy behind

As it disappeared into the dark.

Henry Smith is a freshman at the University of Michigan planning to major in Communications & Media. He's from Columbus, OH and enjoys acting and singing in addition to writing. He never wrote poetry before this year, but saw LSWA as a perfect opportunity to explore a new medium.