I’d like to believe

that there are no bears 

in the woods

(it would settle my nerves,

the edges of which catch on the branches and leaves

across the trail that

I’ve yet to trim)

But I see signs of their shadows

everywhere: 

Scat 

tufts of fur 

paw prints in the mud 

bark peeling off trees

in delicate strips

that I could use to start fires

if fires were allowed up here

Lying in my tent at night 

(every night)

I listen for snapped branches

heavy footfalls 

huffed hot heaving breaths

I’ve seen bears, twice,

only once in the woods–

in New Jersey

Fear burned through me 

I lived like my ancestors once must have,

feeling everything all at once

in a (perceived) life or death struggle 

the young god verses the beast

Hadn’t yet been in the woods long enough for the god complex to be washed away

That takes time

exposure 

vulnerability

danger

time outside the world’s grasp

Because everyone tells you that

you’re a young god

when you’re twenty

And you believe them

But you’re not one 

in the woods–

they disabuse you of this notion

quickly  

within days

The young god stumbles

out here