25. Sep, 2019

A Tale of Two Bears

There are pictures of us
Clutching them,
Attired respectively in,
Dad's flat cap,
Mam's headscarf.
My bear, Teddy,
From the start,
Rebelled against his conventional name
And the tame light brown
Of his lamb's wool, curly fur.
Perhaps it was in defiance
Of Bruin,
Who, larger and more flamboyant
In his dandy's lilac colour,
Was far ahead of his time.
On a dolly pram outing,
(which he had been subjugated to),
My Teddy flung himself out when
Cornering at speed,
Landing in the kind of dog dirt
That necessitated
Urgent bathing in the sink.
He sulkily lost his growl forever
And required a nose repair.
Teddy remained a child's toy,
Taken over, in due course,
By my daughter,
Whilst Bruin, still a little boy's bear at heart,
Gazed out of my brother's window,
For years.
They are brought together again now.
Teddy responded to the shelf reunion
By toppling over, arse uppards, as the saying goes.
Bruin said nothing for, by now,
Sun faded,
He too has lost his growl.

Ruth Enright

Overview

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And my own ted must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds,

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.