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Old she-bear, pent
in her rocky den,
gnaws a footpad
dry as dust,
solitary rakes in sticks
and scratches the scar
that marks a hunter’s
mis-aimed lead.
Shaking the ice
off her frozen fur, she licks
the snow and huffs
out clouds of steam.
continue reading at Zócalo Public Square
-- sdh
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Radio
I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark
from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman
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