At the top of the fence
across the meadow
a curl of wire lies crushed
beneath the alder spilled
from its stand in November
and still unrepaired come May
though the bear cubs ascend
the slender ramp in furry romp
watched by the huffing sow
attending grass and sedge,
hunger pressed tight to her ribs
where spring carved
a twin-cub hollow
fierce as a melting glacier,
the promise of summer berries
and purloined apples in her milk
as she splays her black bulk
against the old cottonwood
to invite the cubs down
from their frolic, away from wire,
away from un-neighborly fences,
from the noise and wounds they contain.

© j.i. kleinberg