Tiny Turtle Dying Bird Small One Continua


This morning on the way to work, trying to go slow, mind racing, so much to do,
There in the road something small,
Did I miss . . .?

Hazards on,
Walking back to find
a tiny turtle, head in, then out, trying to get away,

My hand gently moves it to the grass.

Later in the afternoon, one errand down, and then I will do this and this and this, and then,
in the parking lot, a brown blur, wings flapping, squawking bird,
I pick it up,
small heart and breath pounding against my fingers,

Spot of blood on the neck,
eyes wide at me,
I don’t know what to do.
I turn in circles, holding hurting bird.

I place it in the shadows of a bush.

Big world leaves me helpless,
small ones cry for care each day.

I saved the turtle but not the bird.
But they called
and today at least
I heard.


In the evening, a truck sits in the same place I parked,
hazards on,
the turtle I placed in the grass this morning is long gone.

In its place is a car, red and broken, wedged between trees.
An occupant sits on the pavement,
his face, red and broken, wedged between the hands of a man on his knees
who stopped to help.

It is his truck parked where I helped the small one hide.
A woman stumbles from the car.
I hear a child crying inside.

The mountain blocks the cellphone call
So I race home to dial 911.
Above me, pink scars run across the sky.
I see the face of a man who sits where I swerved to miss the small one.

October 3, 2007



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