The Chainsaw BearsErin Elizabeth Smith
The chainsaw bears are lonely – the sunglassed tourists stroll the boardwalk with latticed hands and everyone in this vacation town seems to be in love. The bears should know better, but they can’t want like that. Carved from the solid trunks of felled hemlock they have no stomachs that hunger, no blood that burns beneath the skin. Not even cupped paws to offer, gesture ‘Closer’ or smooth another’s splintered back. In their bodies there is nothing to fill, no holes to mend. Just the stiff hope that today they’ll be arranged on the store porch so that someone will brush by with palms or open fingers, or stop and look into their black, unblinking eyes.
Erin Elizabeth Smith Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2021, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|