Sinoči so se vrnili medvedje,
čeprav je bila sama noč brez zvezd.
Videla sem jih z razdalje –
dva mladiča tesno skupaj
in medvedka so vzniknili iz podrasti –
a njihova prisotnost je zadostovala,
da je moje telo otrdelo
kot dlake, ki ščitijo
njihove zgrbljene vratove.
Ko sem bila mlada,
so se približali vsako noč
dokler se nisem zbala groze,
ki je čakala za zaprtimi očmi.
Rjavi medvedje so vreli iz rek,
orjaške šape so prebadale ribe,
dokler niso zaznale mene.
Črni medvedje so ležali po pobočjih v zasedi.
Obkoljena, sem morala potovati.
Ni bilo druge možnosti.
Zbudila sem se pretresena, izčrpana
od svojega boja.
Pravijo, da medveda ne moreš loviti dolgo,
ne da bi on začel loviti tebe.
Kroži, prihuli se od zadaj.
Kljub svoji velikosti se giblje
zvijačno, po tihem.
Leta so minila odkar
so izgubili mojo sled … zakon
in otroci so prikrili stopinje …
a zdaj so me ponovno izvohali.
Zdaj so medvedje nazaj.
Morda je njihov povratek sporočilo
kakšnega nemirnega čipevaškega duha,
zavezanega prelomljenim sporazumom.
Morda medved živi v meni,
vsa tista leta, ko sem bila varna,
pregnan na kakšno skrivno mesto.
Morda sem postala šibka.
Morda zaznava rane
in se zdim kot plen.
Slišala sem, da je, če
medveda odreš,
njegov gol obod videti človeški.
The bears came back last night
although the night itself was starless.
I saw them from a distance—
two cubs close
and a sow emerging from the brush—
but their presence was enough
to make my body go stiff
like the hairs that guard
their humpback necks.
When I was young,
they came near every night
till I feared the terror
that waited behind closed eyes.
Brown bears sprung from rivers,
huge paws spearing fish
until they spotted me.
Black bears laid hillside ambush.
Surrounded, I had to travel.
There was no other way.
I’d wake shaken, exhausted
by my flight.
They say you can’t hunt bear long
before he’s hunting you.
He circles, creeping up behind.
Despite his size, he moves
with stealth, quietly.
Years have lapsed since
they lost my trail...marriage
and children covered track....
but now they have my scent again.
Now the bears are back.
Perhaps their appearance is a message
from some restless Chippewa spirit
bound to broken treaties.
Perhaps the bear lives within,
banished to some secret place
all those years I was secure.
Perhaps I’ve grown weak.
Perhaps he senses wounds,
and I seem a likely prey.
I’ve heard that if you
strip the fur of bear away,
the naked frame looks human.
