poem 6/23: find your voice

i don't know how to tell you,

i've tried.

chained to a bear

this inarticulate, hungry thing

that clumsily murders with head-sized claws

that embarassingly ruts against the rough bark of trees

that shits and pees and farts at the most inopportune moments

that hibernates when i need it to explain itself.

believe me, i've tried to get it to speak.

i've tried to teach it the languages of the world

wherever we have been:
the abstract language of philosophy in seminar classes,

the ruddily crude pidgin with "locals,"

even silence.

but it only yawns-

rotten salmon and honey on its breath-

and leaves me to cover for the damages.

the words i offer are always apologies.

and after that, it's head nodding and

an attempt at amelioration and reconciliation.

empty words just to get by.

this, too, is the same.

so, when you ask me to "find my voice"

all i can respond with is:

i'm sorry. please.

bear.

with me.

(groan)