Suspended
I spread my arms and legs
and float
like a painted turtle,
bask in the sun
enjoy my poetic performance.
But still no mate!
No one to hear these thoughts
so I paddle under the surface
and think
Does the shell of my verse
hide my wounds?
I stretch out my head
stick out my long neck
and relax.
Favorite phrases slip away;
incrustations rub off.
***
Aha! A she- turtle!
I grapple with her and we tumble
twist under water
splash
startle dog walkers.
We rotate the stanzas.
***
Six weeks later
my honey crawls ashore
newly encrusted with green algae
finds sand
digs
and lays her 60 eggs,
buries them in warm sand
under the fox’s watchful eyes
slides back down into the pond.
***
Let your poems incubate
six weeks.
They are now ready to hatch
and scurry their awkward way
swimming in your imaginations.
Only two out of one thousand will survive.
