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      March 4, 2025The Sea TurtleMary H. Palmer

      Shoulder-deep in the sea turtle’s nest,
      I search for remains, nothing alive.
      The tiny turtles would have climbed
      over each other, forming a living ladder
      out of their sandy birth canal
      leaving only the unhatched and dead behind.
      Mongoose would have gotten any stragglers.
      I am here only to count egg shells.
      My hand reaches bottom and scoops up
      sand and bits of leathery shells. In their midst,
      I find a black soft lump, a hatchling left behind.
      It remains listless until I gently stroke its belly
      until its life flickers and catches hold
      as a flame lays claim to a
      candle wick.
      It doesn’t have much of a chance.
      Pelicans already circle. But waiting until night
      so it can follow the moon to the
      water is a death sentence too. I place it on
      the sloping beach and whisper a prayer.
      Without a backward glance
      it paddles towards the water.
      The waves are merciless,
      cartwheeling it in the foam.
      Head over tail. Head over tail.
      But it finds a current and starts its slow
      submerged swim, a speck in the sea.
      Too far in to return, the turtle breaks the
      glimmering surface and takes its first
      sea-borne breath.

      from #28 - Winter 2007

      Mary H. Palmer, RN, C, PhD

      “Poetry has been an important part of my life for many years. I see life as interwoven events and emotions forming unique patterns. ‘The Sea Turtle’ sprang into life after taking a morning walk with a park ranger and watching her investigate a disrupted sea turtle nest. This poem was my attempt to convey the irrepressible drive to survive in a hostile world.”