Turn the Page

Late March, but a cold frosty night,

And this morning near the path

To the road an oak leaf, its vaguely

Human shape, head, arms and legs

Outspread like a child making angels

In a too-large hand-me-down snowsuit

In sixty years of snow.


                                               Or, lying there

On its back, struggling to turn over,

A turtle, not the huge snapping turtles

Down by the river that changed course

Fifty years ago past the locks and dam,

But the tiny box turtle, shell painted red,

Carried home from the five and ten store,

Fed lettuce and dead flies, water in a doll's

Teacup.  I have seen it many times since,

Stopping on the road to let it creep across.


Try as it might, the leaf cannot grab hold

Of the wind and cross the path.  I stoop

And turn it over, rise and walk on, the leaf

Catching a gust of air, following, trying to

Keep up with an old man and his memories.

Poetry by countryfog The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 523 times
Written on 2012-03-30 at 15:53

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A very nice poem, Fog, but quite strange, I think. "Who would do this," I wondered, "turn over a leaf, so it could fly away?" You would. A good poem requires an interesting perspective, and you've provided one.

Eli The PoetBay support member heart!

Love the pun on the title of 'page' and 'leaf.' It is a gift indeed when someone can see so much in something so 'insignificant' as a fallen leaf.

Your writing is becoming evermore gentle, subtle, delicate. It feels as if you are approaching something profound and you are treading carefully so as not to startle it, something perhaps akin to what? Harmony? Knowledge? Peace? Acceptance? I don't know, except it is the journey, not the destination, that leads to these poems.