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On Disappearing
November 2022
On Disappearing
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Yesterday, I found an empty turtle shell On a leaf-littered trail by the ancient river. Light flooded the inside Like a tunnel through a yellow-painted mountain. My eyes said, “No one is home” And yet, a part of me was unconvinced. Holding my breath, I bent down to pick it up Hand and body ready to retract.
How often do I live this way — Frightened to see what’s really here? Scared to reach toward what I do not know? Eager to hide from the truth?
Smooth and heavy in my cupped hand The carapace was picked-clean Vertebrae resembling some mystical symbol; A rune, a spell, a skeleton key. All I know is this: There was movement within that vacant shell. A gentle lifeforce. A flowing river. The bones of an unknown song. Today, the shell sits on my bookshelf And I shiver each time I walk by Half-wondering when invisible legs will carry it along.
This subtle haunting will continue for weeks Until, one day, the song becomes clear: Death is not real. We’re all just learning how To lay down our armor Embody the current Disappear into the light. — Ashley Walshe
