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.