A journal of narrative writing.
Chelonia Mydas

(Hawaiian Green Sea Turtle)

1.

As the yolk sacks shrink & the young

fatten against their shells,

the egg teeth on the hatchling heads

       pierce the leathery cases

& the newborns are pipped.

This prompts two more days of rest

 before the marathon.

They hang their heads & flippers from cracked shells

  like tenement dwellers

peeking from windows.

 

A single thrashing turtle triggers a tremendous

collective wriggle.

The clutch pulses in spastic bursts

as the pit gradually collapses.

Those at the top claw the ceiling while

others undercut walls;

       base dwellers tamp falling sand

                        & the brood elevates.

A hundred hatchlings then await a thermal cue

       to ascend in a final unified mosh,

the last time they behave as a group.

Refracted wavelight aligns them with their course;

if the night is dim, the beach slope guides the flurry

            of seabound reptile buttons.

 

                             

2.

Plunging at the shallow sheet flow of a spent wave

the hatchlings are lifted with the crash

of the next breaker,

no longer crawling but thrusting

wing-like on the littoral fringe.

With palimpsest strokes & insistent seaward bearing,

they bob below the crests,

sightless in the first frantic, unburrowed moments

buoyantly timing sea rhythm.

An integral Cretaceous clock

pulls them out with uncertain yolk stores,

 

  colliding in ouncling naiveté

                   with the primal power that ate

 half their natal atoll

     at French Frigate Shoals.

 

 

                              3.

A lost solitary pelagic stage ensues,

fueled at first by frenzied impulse to be at sea,

then passive migration on sargassum rafts

amid the Pacific Gyre,

     nipping at snails, sponges & worms.

 

 

                        4.

Her carapace spins in the relentless eddies for years.

 

 

                              5.

She suns occasionally on a fortuitous

bench or rise of beach.

We don’t know how long she wanders.

 

Through olfaction or taste,

           now the size of a dinner plate,

      she identifies the coast of her ancestors

as an herbivore nipping

on sea grass shoots,

      aloof to her clan from the start.

 

 

           6.

Some swim 1400 km in flotillas 

            to breed at the Shoals,

      revert to carnivores on the way. 

Males occasionally try to copulate with other males

or random flotsam.

Once he seizes a cow with his claw-like tail,

they float in grappling tandem for hours.

 

      She will have scars.

 

 

                       7.

At the froth of the waning breakers

her leaking myopic eyes 

set on a specific stretch of beach.

       So much as a struck match at 100 meters

will send her back to sea.

       She arches her head & nuzzles the sand

for a whiff of her natal grit,

                        a premonition.

 

Four years ago she dropped a clutch on this same slope.

 

Her lifting forelimbs plow a furrow;

rear limbs shove sand for a shallow body pit

so the real work can begin.

As if swimming she hollows the nest with scooping rear flippers,

pausing to sniff the substrate again,

a slow blink & then fills the

hole with a jet of eggs

                                         in glossy serum.

 

They say to pluck one right then & drink the yolk 

will heal just about anything.

 

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