Sally Heaberlin 2023

Nine

And how is it that I stand here looking for turtles Until the sun goes down

and the blood retreats from the tips of my fingers to focus on more vital parts Like the hypothalamus

I’ve never cared about turtles a day in my life

The creation of new life leaves traces of itself behind I carried her for nine months until her small body emerged

Glistening

We drew oxygen together so we could both cry She because of the cold and light,

me because of the Mystery

Nine summers later,

little bits of her still course through my blood

Once she heard tell of a turtle crossing a mile down the road She jumped on her bike,

dirty bare feet pumping the pedals furiously, back hunched,

sweat glistening on her hairline,

rosy cheeked jaw set in stone for the task ahead Purple bike streamers flapping against her

forearms, decorated with temporary tattoos of various ages and viability,

The streamers are powerless against her wishes when she decides to war with the wind

This is not so much a decision of character or a trait of determination.

She cannot help loving turtles any more than

I can help loving her.

She could, and has, wept for turtles

And now whenever I walk by a pond, I stand Captive

Praying I’ll see a turtle. And I hold my breath when a small head

Emerges from the glassy surface of the water Glistening

Its back hunched behind it Saying hello to me from a world I will never know