Between Bruises and Blooms

People hear “bear”
and imagine something fierce.

They’ve never met
my Izzy Bear.

She growls
at socks that won’t cooperate.

Roars
because the toast
was cut the wrong way.

Declares war
on naps,
empty snack bowls,
and closed baby gates.

She marches through the house
like she’s queen of the forest,

until someone says,

“Come here, Bear.”

Then suddenly—

the mighty creature
melts into cuddles,
rests her head on my shoulder,
and forgets
what she was roaring about.

The fiercest bears,
I’ve learned,

are sometimes
the softest ones.

And mine

still fits
perfectly
in my arms. ❤️