The Tortoise
       

A recluse who
now and then sought company,
she would appear in the center
of the living room rug—
hoary stone politely
inquiring after lettuce.

Allowing herself
to be held, tendriling
her wizened neck from its shell,
she frowned and
preened her beak at
the touch of fingers.

Once, on a garden outing,
she mistook herself
for a turtle and climbed
the wading pool wall.
We found her,
water-besotted, among
the baby's floating toys.

That autumn she
crept into the closet
for her seasonal death.

She slept right through
spring, beyond resurrection.

Copyright © 2010 Bertha Rogers All rights reserved
from ">Heart Turned Back
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission