Sun Worshipper

Our turtle likes the sun.
She likes to bask in the light and heat,
as any turtle would.
If she is on the floor,
she will find the strip of sunlight
coming through a window
and recline there with hind legs extended
to tune her cold-blooded body to the radiance.
And if she’s in her water-filled tank
and sees the sun is out,
she will climb a corner, where the glass sides meet,

and stretch her head toward the window.
Her behavior must be natural;
she must have no choice.
She is like a phototropic plant,
always bending toward the light.
But she doesn’t need to bend;
she can walk or paddle to the sun’s rays.
 

Slower Than Ever

Our turtle has slowed down
over the years she’s been our pet.
(She’s been the pet mainly of my wife and daughter—

I have nothing against her myself,
but I can’t say we have a human/reptile bond.)
 

Not that she was ever that fast—
she is a turtle, after all—
But she used to be able to climb out of her tank,
and, once out, run across the floor
as fast as her short legs could carry her.

She doesn’t do those things anymore,
though she can still splash for food
and bask in the sliver of sunlight
that comes through the glass
of a window and into her tank.

Turtle’s Neck

 When I make a drawing of our pet turtle,
our daughter asks why the turtle’s neck is so short.
“Her head is retracted,” I explain.
“You forgot to draw the turtle’s neck,” she says.
And I realize I forgot to sketch the neckline 
that looks like the collar on a turtleneck sweater.
 

That roll of cloth makes us look like a turtle
when we are wearing a fashionable top
and want to warm our neck with wool.
But our turtle needs no sweater
to sport a real turtle’s neck.
All she has to do is pull in her head.
 

Thad Rutkowski

​

Thaddeus Rutkowski is the author of seven books, most recently Tricks of Light, a poetry collection. He teaches at Medgar Evers College and received a fiction writing fellowship from the New York Foundation for the Arts.