‘Tortoise’ by Gustav Parker Hibbett

Dream: you are a tortoise scaly-
limbed heavy-shelled tortoise
green clunky shell like old copper
a thing of tortoise beauty
toes like polished shards of plastic

you are however a jumper
among the tortoises it is you
who likes to push the vertical
legs stumpy as they are it’s not
much but look it’s something
to define yourself around isn’t it

sometimes when you are alone you swear
you can get off-ground by inches
yes inches plural and maybe it’s more
like centimetres at least that’s what
the others say when they see you jumping
but you can swear you can really
swear that when you get going
you can see the ground like astronauts
see the lands and seas of earth from space

you train with tortoise push-ups
and there isn’t much room for arm
or leg muscles to bend but still
you bend them up and down and up
and down shell to the ground then back
as tall as you can stand shell up
against the blue lips of the sky

at night you fall asleep listening
to songs that are wet and slow
and smoky songs that move
like shifting sand in water songs
you dream yourself jumping out of
songs that look soft from above songs
you want to learn to read like tea leaves
like clouds or evening crow-flock shapes

From issue #13: spring/summer 2022

About the Author
Gustav Parker Hibbett is a Black poet, essayist, and MFA dropout. Originally from New Mexico, he is currently pursuing a PhD at Trinity College Dublin. Most recently, he was selected as the runner-up for the North American Review’s 2021 Terry Tempest Williams Prize. His work also appears or is forthcoming in 32 Poems, Witness, Adroit, MAYDAY, Peach Mag, Déraciné, and phoebe. You can also find him on Twitter (@gustav_parker) and Instagram (@gustavparker).