Turtles

don’t trust the world with their softness—

after who knows how many eons

of learning this the hard way

a shell grew from their flesh,

dappled with the colors of forest:

double defense.

I don’t remember when my mother

started calling me Turtle.

I’m reminded that she has known me

longer than anyone, that she might know

how long I’ve been soft and scared

before my memory even begins

and that even through the crack

of my shell

she might see me

once she knows where

to look.