Sarah White Verse-Virtual 2017 February

February 2017

I live in New York City where I enjoy art classes, plays, and concerts. Lucky me. Since retiring as a professor of French language and literature, I have published four poetry collections. The fifth, to one who bends my time, is forthcoming from Deerbrook Editions later this year, and includes this poem.

Ursa Minor

The infant bear is born
amorphous, a ball
of matter on the floor
of the den.
The Mother Bear,
according to a French
maxim, must lick the cub
to give it form.

If she does it poorly
or not at all,
her offspring will be,
as they say,
mal léché,
never to make friends,
thrive in school,
or fall in love.

When I was newborn
I waited on the floor
for hours, then rolled away
to find another den,
another tongue.

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