To the turtles who must travel far
To the turtles who must travel far,
you make me worry.
I was raised to watch for you,
like angel numbers,
like changes in the season,
like miracles.
My father trained us to pluck you from the peripheral of roads
to bid you safe passage,
teaching us that we are not that evolved as a species
if we do not care for our fellow creature.
I don’t know what animals did to have humans thrown in their Garden,
to have their flower beds and menageries of woodlands weeded out,
but let me fix something,
even if it is just with you.
Let me carry you across,
you can shy away,
you are a creature of old,
and I have lost the customs of Pan
years ago,
eyes fogged by the exhaust of the machine.
Let me ferry you into the honeysuckle,
to the river,
to the ditch,
across the Styx,
without your journey ending with
fragments.
For the turtles that must travel far,
I will shelter you,
if you let me.