Leatherback Turtle
I.
The night was as thick as melted asphalt
when her prehistoric form
emerged like a monument
in the sand
and each egg that descended
spiked the air with the scent of birth,
sweet, pungent,
and female.
Drunk with labor,
she could not sense the mass
of people that surrounded her,
the eggs that slid through her rubbery body,
or perhaps the knowledge
that, in minutes, she would abandon
them forever.
Who could know
how far she had traveled
or what force had pulled her home
like snare
in that death-black sea.
II.
Do they look for her
when they have pushed their way
through the grit and sand
or fumble for the safety
of her strong flipper
when all she has left behind is instinct
cold as the saltwater
that must sting their newly formed eyes.
Decades later, the few that survive
will rotate the earth with their memories,
the turbulent water pressing
against them like sadness
to return to the place where they were born.
And when they reach it
do they search for her
before entering that trance,
wanting to see that she, too, has come back
and has been waiting all this time
in the darkness.
Copyright © Dana Fasciano | Year Posted 2025
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