Hibernation

Oh, to be a bear—

to eat and eat and eat, gorging yourself

on the fat of the land, until unrecognizable

in your own corpulence;

to just close your eyes and disappear,

a tumultuous season passing by as you dream.

It seems so unfair.

I could commit gluttony at dinner

yet, come morning, awaken

empty and needing.

How much time must transpire

between opening my eyes and closing them again

to be considered a new nap? Or have I succeeded

at one big sleep with brief intermissions

of disappointing wakefulness?

Some say it takes ten thousand hours

to practice a skill into mastery. I am

a student of the ursine arts. All I care

to do these days is hone this craft, still unable

to drift away for whole seasons.

A day or two may pass away, but I awaken

faced with all the reasons

I want to disappear. I close my eyes again.

Oh, to be a bear.

And how does a bear know

when the season is over,

when it is safe to open eyes once again?

How will I?