Member Poem

To an Eastern Box Turtle

Last month, by chance, while stepping through the lawn
   my foot fell on a boulder—
   your shield. But now you're gone.
Next time I chanced upon you, you were colder.

My guess: as you were about to lay your eggs
   into the shallow hole
   you dug with sturdy legs,
you shuddered from a puzzling thunder roll,

closer and closer, felt your shell being crushed,
   and then the world went blank.
   The soughing wind was hushed.
(A Super Surfer mower is to thank.)

Through rain and heat, your parts vanished like bread
   strewn across the earth
   for sparrows. Ants had fed
on all but your armor and what your life was worth:

half a dozen oval, easily broken,
   flaccid hints of scattered
   sentience that would have woken
to a world where carapaces can be shattered

as easily as a globe becomes a box
   split into smaller cases,
   where turtle, deer, or fox
at end of day does not know where its place is.

You were as brave and bright as summer flowers:
   orange, yellow, black
   before man spoke with powers
that ultimately cracked your ancient back.

(Originlally appeared in Soundzine)