Snagged on the fine mesh of the deer fencing
around the pea garden, the red eared slider
perished unknown until walking the line we
found it, carapace and plastron yet intact,
polished by the many denizens that benefited
from its misfortune. It sits my bookshelf now,
its spirit nearby, feather light in my hand
yet a troublesome burden to memory.
By Pat Anthony
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