When a Bear - Cagibi

…is rambling in the emerald slough
down off the gravel road you’re on,
don’t
worry. 

Late summer north of Fairbanks means
single-minded forage. Sedge grass, blueberries, 
freshest
carrion.

Your job is to drive just another half mile:
set up the seismograph station. You can leave
the van
running.

Trudge to the station now. Spade ripe earth, 
nest sensors; speed up as ravens 
trail to
silence.

Gather tools, check distance back, so far
your judgment’s been good; remember you have a
gun in
this van.

Moving quick now just a few more feet grim 
reminder of the why of that gun. Grueling drills 
Army
style.

Cheery ex-special ops trainer went through 
at least five weapons. Each with its own
strong
recoil.

Van trundles forward. Thrum the only animal
noise in a pine-fenced world. And then one
breath
later

round the corner comes that young black bear. Shifting
from paw to paw he considers. You horn blare and push forward. He
veers
into

dense willow stands. Back to the slough.
You have to wonder at the when of
this
bear.

You had lunch at the canteen several months ago.
There was a young shy geologist. You chatted about
research,
weather.

She was eating a tuna fish sandwich. Held
by pincer claws fitted to her prosthetics. Why only
last field
season

she joyfully mapped in glorious country. Rocks, pines, and air
too beautiful to be believed. And then a young black bear
came by
for her.