The turtle has been crushed
by a tractor’s heartless wheel, life
bubbling through cracks in the shell,
coagulation on the sealed lips of the road,
mincemeat of asphalt and plasma—
a pitiful thing bobbing an intact head,
trying to see behind itself, wondering
what could have gone wrong. I can
neither put it out of its misery, nor explain
what happened. Neither look away, nor stop
an urgent weeping. Like reading breaking news.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
January 7, 2026
A previous version of this poem was published in Thirty Years of Cardinals Calling, San Francisco Bay Press, 2022
Posted in Book Exceprts
