Mary Simmons

Turtle Pond

for Bridget and Cole

In June, it’s an impressionist painting, algae
greening the surface soft. Glinting where water
breaks the tufts, where air bubbles and rounds.
You look for turtles. Hands above your eyes,
the sun wakes the tall grasses, fluffs and pours
shade and shades of green, here everything
is green, only in June, only when you are
on the bridge, looking for turtles. And yes,
here it was winter, too, the water clear
and the branches low, the songbirds dulcet
in low cover. You look for turtles, and some
days, there are turtles: on branches
eclipsing the algae, or mouthing a tear
in the surface, or on the far bank.
All those copper shells, like park statues,
something you’d rub golden, for good luck.

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Mary Simmons is a queer poet from Cleveland, Ohio. She is the author of Mother, Daughter, Augur (June Road Press). She earned her MFA from Bowling Green State University, where she also served as the managing editor for Mid-American Review. Her work appears in Baltimore Review, Phoebe, Lake Effect, Moon City Review, Midwest Review and elsewhere. She serves as a poetry reader for Silly Goose Press and lives with her partner and their cats, Suki and Shadow.