Hibernation

One season my stomach shrank 
from staying in bed for months 
so hungry. When bears hibernate,

their bodies recycle to stay 
alive: reabsorbing urine, feces, 
like a dream each night.

In those winter days,
my stronger self receded 
into that hole we all fear.

Dirt from every angle. No one 
thinks so, but bears do wake 
in that shadowed cave,

shifting to ward off sores 
before going back under.
I showed up to the meetings,

I walked in the shade,
and my life survived on nothing 
but itself, reenacting

its own memory. Like entering a room: 
surely I had ventured to get there,
but the journey was lost.

I could not remember the feeling 
of water as it showered down.
Spring returned; I emerged.

What did I learn? To survive 
you must hide
in the hollow you came from.

If you can’t find it, dig.
No, that’s not it. The dirt didn’t 
save me. I was spared.

Read more from Issue 19.2.