The Bear Husband Ken McCullough
Winona, Minnesota, Poet Laureate
John Osa and the Village Girl Prologue She lived in a town by the western sea, silvered by wind and salt air. The men set out in their boats each day and the women mended the nets. The last few months the catch had been lean and the skies were black as soot. The waves had swept fishermen overboard and the wails of the women rose.
* One day in late summer she wandered off to pick blueberries in the woods. They were scarce, ’til a dark young man said I’ll take you to a patch. Drawing by Julia Crozier
So they climbed the hill to a meadow, and they picked through the afternoon. They lost track of time, and didn’t say much. The berries were dusty and big. The air was dry so she took off her dress and filled it full of berries. She didn’t mind that he saw her naked-he was naked too. And then it started to rain in sheets-He said you won’t make it home-the river’s swollen its banks … I’ll give you shelter, a fire, some food. He smelled strong, like upturned earth; he smelled like the dance of danger. But she was a dancer and followed him home. She spent the night, a month, another.
* She danced with his brothers at gatherings some black, some brown, some yellow, some red, and even a few albinos. The gamut, from lean to stout. Some came in gaggles, some alone, they came from all directions. Some had little ones at their dugs, and they quaffed from drinking gourds. They danced and they danced and they swirled her around clumsy but somehow agile. Some even stood upright on hind legs just to make her feel welcome. Then they’d drop to all fours, swing heads back and forth, and bare their teeth at each other.
Lost Lake Folk Opera 5
