Rachel A. Robins

A bear,
shaggy with midnight
darkness, stomps into
my room at night.
Shaking my bed,
he plops down his giant
behind, surveying
me with hunger.
Moonlight reflecting off
jagged teeth, he opens
massive jaws. I quickly
feed him my insecurities,
flawed logic, overactive
imagination. Chewing,
gorging, inhaling
finally burping his satisfaction.

Seeing him clearly now, as
moonlight illuminates
how silly he looks all fat and
bloated off my thoughts --
I peer closely, he is
licking his stained mouth,
swiping a paw
across his wet nose,
staggering in exhaustion.
I begin laughing. He is huffing,
sulking his way out of my room.
Smiling, I fall asleep.