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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Turtle by the Door The bears and wolves are few; one threadbare widow mourning, two grays as consumptive as smoke. The large dwindle, their bodies grow more awkward, more at odds. The heavier beasts sway like drunks in the scant woods. Under a pelting dark they come. Beneath a stabbing ice, one by one- the animals. I listen to their shuffling, the scrape of a delving nail. They are stealing, are burrowing led by the visceral prod of a shriveling wind. Hesitant paws withdraw as they near, a restlessness keeps them gnawing a middle ground. I crane my neck from its ribcage; they fall back and return, wanting, always wanting. The small creatures enter where cracks fill with moonlight. They scuttle and hesitate, a little way, a little. I am Turtle, a makeshift thing, cloud-splashed and sullied. I sing back the needy shadows, sing back the devouring light as it spores its anemic gleams least fire and ice meet and both fail as will eventually all ghost dancing. ~~ Turtle Speaks I did not bundle this day’s flesh, nor did I carry it to a pathless end. I merely watched it pass over black mountains, slip away on the trail. Field rats nibble last white ropes. The sky-tent will catch fire again. I heap up meager wickiups, lodges for the crawlers and the pent in lookouts. I am turtle, an unwrought thing. I am starlight in a mud-pool. The sun digs its way down. How easy the dark opens, how easily the light topples. Mole has carried the moon up from the dirt once more. Though it is only a white bone he has carried it up. I have much to shoulder, much to put down. Turtle am I, a rough-hewn creator; one who watches the weaving rhymes of sunsets, and knows not to say what cannot be said. ~~ Turtle Goes to the Light Turtle's carcass is nibbled into threads of brown river water. His empty shell tumbles lazily in slow currents. Turtle stays where the starry mammoths beat sunlight into skin and bone and he waits. Mole, beaver, and badger heap the dead upward until light licks at them. The world feeds itself, then turtle reappears. He hatches from an egg made of green sludge and marsh fire. He returns as a burnt shadow. Turtle's leathery tongue sings throaty songs. He calls each denizen his kin. He calls to all blood-filled bodies that they will know sorrow and not worry. He visits the backyards of men, but he does not call them, then he perches on a log in the middle of everywhere as silent as a stone. ~~
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