Abandon one shell & all its contents impulsively,
while he’s comatose & can’t catch me in nylon mesh. I’m petrified. Still I
crawl, naked, now shell-less, no heat—cold in sand at night, nothing to eat. Next
time I’ll stockpile barnacles & snails for hunger so deep to the empty core,
incomplete. Keep crawling shell to shell find a happy ending & home, seek safe
place to burrow away from the sun’s deterministic rays, look outside myself. Still
don’t find a solid shell, so I’m soft & driven by a dry hypothalamus. Parallel
to the seashore, I crabwalk across the grains of this absurd beach where Meursault killed the Arab…just because.
Powerful.. Still I crawl. I feel your struggle. I, the mama tortoise, helped teach you this struggle. Still we crawl. I love you, my Muffin.
ReplyDeleteThe strangers mother died today or was it yesterday
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