[stylist] For Donna, Your, me and Abegail, a poem

[Jackie Williams]

Donna, for you and a posting for all. 
On page 141 of your book, Abagail reads a poem she has written about sea
turtles. I get so much into your characters, I forget you have written this
poem. Since one of my second places was about green sea turtles, I wanted to
send it to you all.
It is free verse, no particular form so I can copy and paste it. If I am not
as active in all matters for the blind as I should be, I consider our earth
in a much more dire condition than many of us are, and an inordinate amount
of my time goes toward drawing attention to many details of what is
happening. This is my first paid award in this category, Save Our Earth, in
the NFSPS annual contest.
 
34. Save Our Earth Award                            Jacqueline Williams
 
1431 W. 7th Pl.
 
Mesa, AZ  85201
 
jackieleepoet at cox.net
 
AZ State Poetry Society
NFSPS 2014, Second Place out of 141 entries
 
Saga of a Green Sea Turtle
 
After mating off the shore of her natal beach,
she aims for the dry sand of the upper shore. 
Easy prey, she drags her lumbering 
two hundred pounds over a far reach, 
with flippers, digs a pit. A hundred eggs she'll lay. 
 
Her instinctual goal fulfilled, she returns 
to mate again, create another clutch 
to be delivered to the shore once more.
Two months pass slowly in the Costa Rican sun. 
When temporary egg tooths grow 
to break open tough shells, they score.
 
With group strength, they escape the thick dome 
of a beach home. A few make safety 
through the crabs, coyotes, and night birds.
When ocean holds the one-ounce survivors, 
the tiger sharks will comb the waters 
well before they reach the deep, pull them down. 
 
Those left give themselves up to the great swirls 
of cold Atlantic waters. The gulf stream sweeps 
up the coast-crosses to warm European shores. 
Her sisters, brothers die off, prey to shark and man. 
Fishing net spurs death. Graveyards-plastic debris-
clog lungs, guts of turtles man ignores. 
 
For journey home, a guidance system we infer.
Perhaps thirty, she mates off shore, drags herself 
to dig once more. If she should pause to slumber, 
a poacher will make soup of her, or use 
her carapace and plastron for ornamental toys. 
 
If allowed by green sea turtle gods, she will continue. 
No thought of danger will deter the mission. 
She will lay her eggs-almost as if she is in a trance. 
 
 
Jackie Lee
 
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz