POETRY | Mary Oliver : The Turtle

The Turtle
-Mary Oliver

breaks from the blue-black
skin of the water...
to dig with her ungainly feet
a nest...
and you think
of her patience, her fortitude,
her determination to complete
what she was born to do-
and then you realize a greater thing-
she doesn't consider
what she was born to do.
She's only filled
with an old blind wish.
It isn't even hers but came to her
in the rain or the soft wind,
which is a gate through which her life keeps walking.
she can't see
herself apart from the rest of the world
or the world from what she must do
every spring.
Crawling up the high hill,
luminous under the sand that has packed against her skin.
she doesn't dream
she knows
she is a part of the pond she lives in,
the tall trees are her children,
the birds that swim above her
are tied to her by an unbreakable string.