I am a Turtle 

Upside Down

Sunday ended 

in human sacrifice,

Monday began with my own.

Some sorrows cannot wait

for the moon to be more

full than the cup

we make

of ourselves.

Last night

a hawk dropped carrion meat

into my lap from a height,

not once, but thrice,

and not realizing

I was meeting this moment

in a dream,

I felt blessed.

In the light of day 

I invest my emotions 

in the sun.

Lying on my back

resigned

on a rock 

at high noon

in the heart of the park,

a place purposely designed 

to forget

where we are, 

I remember

what I’ve lost

that I might begin 

life anew.

Every morning after

is bereft of stars.

It’s time my

horoscope read me,

warning luna will face

a harsh exchange with Saturn

before moving

into a tangled showdown

with Uranus at mid-day. 

At this late stage 

how can my fate

not be reflected

in the sky?

Grounded

amidst so much

inconspicuous anima,

I become cognizant

that everything around me

is alive; ants, clouds,

the responsive leaves

all moving at their own pace;

and what stands still

is no less or more 

alive than what moves.

To think a rock 

could slowly teach

me not to take 

density 

(or destiny)

for granted.

I am

a turtle upside down;

claws scraping 

like oars in mid air,

my mind

a crepuscular muscle

for choreographing chaos.

This is how

I right myself.

In the distance

the sirens aren’t snaking 

through the streets,

they’re singing 

their holy songs

by the bay.

Peter Valentyne

May 27th, 2020

(In the Time of Corona)