Sleeping Buddies

by Jessie Peitsch

I search the medicine cabinet 

for melatonin — my pineal gland 

doesn’t produce enough for me. 

I’ve lost my circadian rhythm because 

at night, I think of the polar bears. 

I imagine their daunt faces and solitary 

walks along the tundra, white like clean 

bedsheets that marquee and ripple towards

the mattress. The bear swims the polynyas 

for seals, but shouldn’t trust the annual ice 

covering. I don’t trust myself or the way 

my brain decides who I am. I can 

count this blessing. In this city, Ursa Major 

is gone, Ursa Minor is gone and I’m weary 

of sleeping alone. Polar bears have nothing 

but themselves. Sometimes, under this lonely 

sky, the bears harbour an embrace. They stray 

into slumber. 

Published online March 01 2019.