Death came, half a world from here,
and word of it slid
down the meridian
to find me where I hid,
far from the Great Bear and the Little Bear
that lord the northern nights.
I feel their icy shadows
rake the air,
the claws we carry at our throats,
near our hearts,
the axis of a globe
without escapable parts,
no corners: we are never out of reach.
I turn my back,
they seem to disappear,
behind the earth,
as stars behind the sun:
oh but the dangerous Bears
are always near.
They come for us one by one.
-- Robin Schectman
When you're done doing that, head on over to Think Kid, Think! where Ed DeCaria is hosting Poetry Friday
