Nothing can be perfect

We have a bearskin in our living room
it meets me every day with open mouth.
I don’t know where or why it met its doom
my father bought it once and brought it south
he know it was a crime, that it’s been poached,
But it carries with it stories of another time,
a token of adventures in a wayless north,
reminding me, that my father once was young.
That nothing can be perfect; even honest men
have secrets without need to make amends.

Today Sara Connor hosts at dVerse and wants us to write about mementos.

25 responses to “Nothing can be perfect

  1. Wow, that’s a bear and a half. I really like the flow of your rhythm and rhyme here – it’s teetering on the edge of being a nursery rhyme, and I can imagine a child being fascinated (or terrified) by that bear. What an intriguing memory of your father.

  2. My uncle had a black bear skin on the floor of his living room. I loved it. I think there is a picture of me on it playing somewhere in the boxes of pictures around this house. He killed the bear to save his family, living in a cabin in the Rockies of Colorado. I like your rhythm in this. It reads easily but it is such an intriguing poem.

  3. Love those little family tales with a sketchy backstory – that everyone gets – the ones that keep the wobbly bridges between generations: standing. Great job on this one!

  4. There are a few things that we should’ve left behind in Côte d’Ivoire when we lived there, but the grandchildren have eyes for a few of the items … which always make my laugh.

  5. It is a reminder, remembrance, and it is important to remember even when we don’t know the “whole” story. Thanks Bjorn.

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