Tuesday, April 12, 2011


It seems impossible that there could be
any anscestral link between the turtle—

plodding, benevolent creature they keep
in a glass terrairium—and any bird,

but once the teacher suggests it, they begin to see—
in the blunt beak stained with mulberry juice,

the low brow, the scales on its legs—certain,
if, at first, strained resemblance. Then, even

in its poor posture, they are convinced of another
sky into which ir withdraws, not to become

invisible, but to soar, fearless, inside
itself—small dome of safe, starless heaven.

--Claudia Emerson

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