​Target practice - Sarah Wetzel

In the morning, I read on Facebook
that the she-bear is dead
shot eight times by an off-duty cop
the same bear I watched just a year ago
fold down our bird feeder like a fan
her two cubs 
drunk on suet and seed

Her carcass is an uncrossable fissure
that we drag through the dirt
looking for a way to clarify
our care by emoji
as if it wasn’t always our fault
We took down the bird feeders too early
Last year it was too late

Her two new cubs look down
from the oak’s uppermost branches
The tree sways and they sway 
like tiny dark rainclouds and the actual clouds
resemble a ghost army of bears
Two bluejays dive bomb their heads
cruise missiles shrieking 
their own kind of rage

A voice on the telephones warns 
to let nature take her course
In the video I took last year
I watch my she-bear carve a black hole
in the dirt, scuffing her circuit
it seems a warm place for lying down
I mean, it looks like a target