the enso

"Turtles #1 - Offspring" by Mark Hiebert

the poem

When you breached
the surface, I mistook
your inquisitive face
— the soft unblinking eyes,
the grimly set mouth —
as a young carp who was too curious
for its own good. You, old turtle,
had traveled from the depths to see
why your offspring congregated
at the edge of the pier. You bore
pillows of lichen and wrinkles
that rippled along your thick neck
and slow legs. You moved
deliberately, tranquil,
as though all had been foreseen,
and stared at my pink fingers.
Perhaps no one had stopped here
long enough to appreciate the legacy
in this pond, the wisdom
you carry always with you,
as worn as your scuffed dome.