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
Published online March 01 2019.
Jessie Peitsch is an emerging writer from Kelowna, British Columbia. She is taking her bachelor of arts in English and Creative writing at the University of British Columbia Okanagan and is pursing a career in writing.