Fever Dream
Poetry • January 2026 • Love's Snare
Some of what I write is heavy. Some of it’s light.
But all of it’s honest.
If you like that kind of space, I’d be honored to have you here.
Fever Dream
A poem by Drew Gaither, January 2026
Last night I nearly melted in the coldest house I’ve ever known. Night two in a row of watching sheep get slaughtered by the arrows of a bow. Rather than count, I cried. Why did God let them all die? So hot I got I threw off my socks— for once my cold feet were actually my reprieve. The fever—a dream; my life—the fever? In the dream, a bear, caught by a stare. Trapped— I reached out ‘cause shit— I care. But in the stare I saw not the snare. At first the bear perked— let out a short snort. And with calm presence, I felt his breath. I reached for the fur, not thinking of the ground. Then all of a sudden… SNAP! I was caught— a second snare. The bear growled and bit my hand. The snare bit foot. Fuck. I screeched. The bear jumped. In our minds—six feet. But caught in our snares— startled, bleeding— we stayed snug to the ground, closely bound by our feet. We thrashed for a second, then looked further on. In my care for this bear, did I create further despair? The fever boiled, and toiled— sheets soiled in sweat. My dream—or life— in need of a vet. Trapped in care, staring into the eyes of a crazed bear. Bleeding out in a snare, I realize— Care alone cannot unmoor a bear from his snare. Especially when too distracted by his beauty to see the snare.