I live with a turtle,
a box turtle with a
high, domed shell.
At times, during
his daily cruises,
when mounting
shoes, which are
surrogate mates,
or toys, which are
vantage points
from which to
survey his land,
he will flip over.
He holds still,
then, for a time,
does not soon
begin the fight
to gain purchase
on wood floor
with head, limbs,
or stub of tail.
It’s as if he fears,
after fifteen years
with us, that a hawk
might yet appear
in the dining room,
or maybe a raccoon.
Something. It pays,
he knows, to always
keep one eye open,
to keep one’s
orange eyes open
all the time.
For NaBloPoMo and PAD Challenge, Day 14 (prompt: Write a stuck poem).
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
Awe, I love turtles. This part made me laugh:
“It’s as if he fears,
after fifteen years
with us, that a hawk
might yet appear
in the dining room,
or maybe a raccoon.”
I had a box turtle when I was a youngster. Unfortunately, I was too young to understand the concept of hibernation. I thought it would be a good idea to bring him inside during the winter, after a heavy snow. It was a hard lesson, to say the least.
Great poem.
Thank you! And oh, I’m sorry for your childhood loss. Hibernation is tough — maintaining the temp and all. We keep ours awake, and he just slows down a little and doesn’t eat as much. Not ideal, maybe, but he seems really happy and always does well at vet checks.
this is awesome.
Thank you, Jesse!