by Caroline Johnson

Today I came across a painted turtle
as I was bicycling near a shipping canal.

He had stopped in the middle of the trail,
head erect, all limbs exposed, waiting.

He seemed stuck in the moment,
moving neither forward nor backward,
trapped in time.

I thought of you, dear father,
moving across unstable ground,
gripping your cane and hovering
for a brief moment

before the storms set in.

Previously published on Wilda Morris’s Blog.

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