(untitled) by Christopher King

sad mother sea turtle
trapped in the mud
treading her flippers to no avail

she has seen the watchful lunar eye open and close for aeons
generations of her life etched like scarred patterns into her shell
she has seen the sun burn and the stars cry

she has watched generations of her young
swallowed alive and squeaking tears of panic
as their infantile faces pressed into the sand by claws and teeth
by those who would walk on them to consume their innards
felt the indifferent caress of the waves over her face as
she watches the heavens cook them alive
watches them drown in lungfulls of
inexperience

her love long passed
he was hauled from the ocean
decades ago
and roasted by men
who greedily devoured his rich green flesh
she watched his struggles
his mouth silently gaping for life as they
ran their blades the marathon length of his neck
creating a crimson grin in his proud skin

she wept for this

she knows the cool calm of the rain against the surface of her body
rolling off her back and pooling in the sand
so that she might drink

she watched the hurricanes and the floods wash her body along the shores
she remembers burying deep into the sand to escape
the oppressive radiation of
the omnipresent sun gods
the cool earthen embrace soothing her cheeks

she can recall the taste of seaweed
the smell of rain
the sight of the night stars
the shrill cries of the aboriginal peoples as they gutted her loved ones
and
then went on to make jewelry from shell and skin
for good luck
she can remember the acrid smoke that comes from
her babies tossed into the fire on their shells
alive and frantically kicking their feet
cooking alive at the watchful gaze of men

sad momma sea turtle
trapped in the mud
generations of struggle do her no good
her body is tired
succumbing to the elements
the sick and fetid stench of inevitability filling her mouth

her mind can trace the black-and-white outline of
being young
and being able to race the beaches with relative wings
the taste of fresh berries torn from flowers
the delicate nuzzle of her lost love against her leathery neck

sad mother sea turtle waits
for something bigger than her
"greater" than her
to lift her by the sides
and turn her on her back so that she might not escape
her soft belly
exposed to the knife
the teeth
the bullet
the world
waiting to die
having no sword, no claws

sad mother sea turtle
those slow brown eyes hold a plethora of secrets
a lifetime of solitude and mystery
what whispered truths does your tiny brain contain
that the rest of the universe might never be able to understand?

there in the mud lies
beauty
your tragedy is one that knows no great story, no song
no protest