Confession Bear
The day 'the bad thing' happened,
The day that it occurred,
The day that I just can't forget,
Started with a bird.
Ma and Pa and I had walked,
Out to the border trees,
A silver thrush flew overhead,
Uplifted on the breeze.
Us three, we watched it as it flew,
My pa said 'let's return',
His belly rumbled - how we laughed!
(... a sound for which I yearn).
For when we spied the door ajar,
My pa dropped to his paws,
(Still I can remember,
the sound made by his claws).
We crept inside, we saw the mess,
All oats and splintered wood,
We heard the snores from overhead,
And pa was gone for good.
(When pa gets angry I get scared,
His heckles rise, incisors bared,
A low growl murmurs, claws extend,
He spies the stairs; starts to ascend).
The sound is dim - my ma, in fright,
Has covered up my ears,
But muffled sounds come from above,
All distant cries and tears.
And then it's over - pa comes down,
And ma says, 'Is it done?'
Pa nods once, he wipes his mouth,
And looks to me, his son.
'We mustn't ever talk of this,
You ken?' I nod, dismayed,
'Good,' he says, then motions me,
To fetch the garden spade.
Now ten years later, that old lie,
That I told in my youth,
Is long forgotten; long believed,
But me? I know the truth.