I found a turtle in the road,
happily sunning beside the median strip.
I wanted to move him to the safety of the berm
but I was afraid of a nip, a rash, ticks.
I tried to poke him with a birch twig.
He wouldn’t budge. I feared my scent on him.
When I came back with work gloves, he was a stain.
That small head lolled, hinged and stubborn in death.
I made a promise, don’t hope, just act.
I broke it driving north to you.
Issue: Fall/Winter 2012 » Poetry
I’m anxious to see more and send in some!
I admire how, with the pen in the right hands, short poem can say so much.
A perfect concision of event and emotion. I will remember it. Thank you.