The beach gives birth to a million turtles.
They flounder toward a sound.
Many snapped up by the diving dark.
Some make it as far as the waves,
sink into home. A moving shadow
is waiting. They swim for their lives.
I watch the massacre from my armchair.
Isn’t nature amazing, my friend says.
Turns back to the light of his phone.
Little motes of the invisible
are closing in, snapping at our breath.
We hunker down for our lives.
Pray to an invisible God.
Expect answers from gurus.
Hope they’ll find, the new skin we seek.
Decades later, those that survive
crawl up the beach, hide their eggs.
Turn their backs. Forget their stories.
2 Miles from Home
It was the time when I knew
where the frogs lived.
Scooped their jelly into jars,
watched the little tails emerge.
It was the time when I lay
in the grass, tried to catch
the grasshopper. Gone
by the time my hand came down.
It was the time when I wore ten
purple foxgloves on my fingers,
casting witchy spells.
It was the time I barehand dug
for bait, watched rainbow trout
dart from underneath
the river grass.
It was the time I played
with hedgehogs, chased rabbits,
caught bricíns, travelled knee-deep
through jungle streams.
Billy Fenton lives outside Waterford City and he writes poetry and short stories. His work has been published in the Irish Times, Poetry Ireland Review, Crannóg, Honest Ulsterman, Galway Review and others. He was shortlisted for a Hennessy Award in 2018, and for a Write by the Sea Poetry Award in 2019. He was chosen as a mentee for the Words Ireland National Mentoring Programme in 2019. @BillyFenton7