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Poetry
Almost Still Life with Turtles
They slow
me down. I go
full speed until I see
what is atop a dry sandy
hill in Lowell Holly woods. That a hole
at Conaumet Point now open to sky? A mole
might have dug it, no, what is emerging, what a surprise –
eight tiny discs lumber from under the earth, their small size
destined by sex, determined by weather, hexed
for all female or male. Hello girl-sexed
snappers! One sister stills. I help
her to pond, piles of kelp
she tumbles o-
ver slow.
Sarah Key
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