Tortoise

a poem

photo: Haci Elmas/Unsplash

I can hear the grass grow,
the sparrows chirping,
yet I’m still lurking,
fully retracted,
head and limbs reluctant
to query the new reality.

A ragged conscript,
trapped inside
a dented carapace
duomo-dark,
who can’t believe the war is
over — unable to leave
that dense jungle
of thoughts and fears
not entirely hacked aside.

My appetite for the chase
and frilly nibbles is
wanting — I’m just
hovering behind the lines,
with the promise of a tail,
egg tooth blunted,
as the desert jackrabbits,
Aesop’s finest,
lollop by — a little too close
for comfort.

**