The Turtle Poem by Francis Poole

When I was eight
I moved into a new foster home
with my suitcase and
three painted turtles.
I kept the turtles
in a small aquarium
and fed them lettuce and snails
that I would find
after it rained.
One day the father said
we can't have turtles
and took them away.
That night I stayed awake
wondering what had happened
and where my turtles were.
The next morning
I got up early before school
put my things in my suitcase
and hid in the woods
behind the house.
When the father found me
he grabbed me and
threw me so hard that
I fell face forward to the ground.
Then he picked me up by my arm
and dragged me back
to the house where
he forced me to sit
in the Florida sun all day
until school was over.
I dare you to get out of that
Goddamned chair.
I remember being hot
and very thirsty.
My face was burning.
My mouth was dry.
Something in my eyes
made them sting.
I wanted to see my lost turtles
and feel their soft webbed feet,
tiny claws and smooth belly plates
as they crawled across my palms.
I wanted to look into their
calm, wizened faces
and ask them how to
pull my head, arms and legs inside
a dark, pulsating chamber
and let night's cool fingers
close around my throbbing heart.