I dream a weary-eyed brown bear
tries to hibernate under my ribs,
gently pushing organs aside
with his large paws.
I try to make room but
his burrowing wakes me.

Now, thoughts claw at me.
I need to plan my new class,
plant chard, better support
my saddest friend. And why did I
say what I shouldn’t have? Probably
too much wine, but hard to cut back

when smug men flirt with fascism,
play Russian roulette with the climate.
I despair of our species while also
heartened by a tweet showing people
arms circled, singing for hours
to protect a family from ICE.

Their voices, amplified by ugly structures
common here in the Anthropocene,
echo in my heart’s chambers.
I can’t get back to sleep
but am glad of the bear’s company
in these quiet hours before dawn.