Skip to main content

Walking to the Mailbox

ISSUE:  Winter 1986
We found a turtle stunned by sunlight
dozing easy with half-shut eyes,
and as I bent down, my little Rosemary,
strapped to my back, stirred and
murmured. When I held its knobbed green
body up, her quick breath moistened
my ear, while the turtle, dazed
by eternity, made perfect unto itself
by so many million years, looked
back at my little one, all wisdom
and danger, trouble and delight
unfurled in the slots of its yellow eyes.

Hunched on the ground again it broke
from its trance, sinewy legs
reaching out, the green skull
of itself tottering slowly away,
made strong by wearing its
own death outward as I did
rising up with Rosemary.


This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading