she’s a turtle


she’s a turtle

mickeylou, mickeyblue,

carrying her home on her back,

retracted head . . . can’t get nowhere

even if she’s got legs.

Won’t stick out her neck,

so how can she get where she’s going.

Where she’s intending.

Lost child of the monastery,

“a soul afraid of dying

that never learned to live . . . ”

Trapped in blue lace agate,

she lumbers slower than all.

Bitter snow soul

Can’t see her hand in front

of her face

She’s traveling,

glacier slow,

ancient trudge,

her world perpetually


Dragging her belly heavy

on dirt earth.

A terrible “hibernation of spirit”

No wind beneath

her breast.


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