Sunday, May 4, 2014

24 - trinity

By Gary M. Stolz/U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Macrochelys
           temminckii
           apalachicolae
           suwanniensis
13 million years diverged

cracks of southern
geography form
churches steepled with
rocks and riverbanks

this is the holy mystery

a triptych built
of shell, beak, and bone

----
[If you haven't heard the news, a few days ago National Geographic (and many other outlets) reported on a study that reveals that the alligator snapping turtle is actually three species, each geographically-based. While this discovery does have some sad implications that highlight the importance of protecting these creatures, it is nonetheless exciting. Three turtles! Regarding the 13 million years date, there are a range of dates for the species' divergence; for artistic purposes (hey, I'm allowed), I've gone with the oldest date (which is technically 13.4, but that didn't fit the line as well).]

Friday, May 2, 2014

23 - windshield

[I recently moved all my creative writing onto my new computer and while doing so found this unposted poem. I don't remember when exactly I wrote it, but it was sometime in 2013 and on a Friday, since I remember writing it just before a drum lesson. It was inspired by this Huffington Post article about a picture posted to Reddit of a turtle that had gone through a car windshield. The turtle reportedly survived and the picture is not as gruesome as it sounds, but out of respect for more sensitive readers, I won't post the picture here. It's in the link.] 
---

isn’t that the way it
always happens –
every life
every death
every
epiphany that will make you
decide to move to
another continent


you
are crossing the street and
thinking of nothing in
particular,
not because you
are callous and don’t care about
climate change or healthcare or the rising cost
of education, but because
your brain, though older
than all of these things
has never
evolved to share such
concerns –
nor needed to


so you
are crossing the street, thinking
of nothing in particular
only smelling the
dandelions you
will devour
in some immeasurable
future,
knowing
without knowing that
a river waits
for you, several
minutes yet ahead
and it will welcome you with
cool and rushing arms


and a great
roaring thing for which
you have no name
charges,
makes contact with
your body
and send you into
the air


for a moment
you mimic your ancient cousin, who
from the same
scaly ancestor took
to the sky and not
the river


you know this cousin
you know what you
are not
and then there is
the embrace of a
pane of glass


The cracks that
make a halo around
your body
are as waves
in blue
water