Background Switcher (Hidden)


Tuesday, June 20, 2006

She hauls herself from the mucky edge
Cruel gravity, friction, sun
Eggs like lead in her womb.
She feels them every spring.
She is an old scrap of tire flung on the grass
Her eye a bright jewel in the wrinkles.
She drags over the clipped lawn.
All around, failed nests: white wrappers strewn
Where the coons had their way.
These are too close to the water.She is big because she is old
She is old because she is wise.
She lumbers on.
Here, higher than ever, she will dig.
Her eggs are coming.
This time, they might hatch.


[Back to Top]