A medieval circle dance

We are turtles.
That is correct.
We have grown shells
firm and round
and we know how to use them.
If you wait,
we will stretch our orange-speckled necks,
show you the strength of our legs.
If you wait, we will run.

You are not elephants.
That is correct.
Although you have their eyes,
each of you,
deep and seeing.
Your fingers give you away,
and the many small connections in your feet.
You touch the earth lightly,
flex to what’s beneath.

They are horses.
That is correct.
Everything lithe and sure
that we dreamed we could be
but always woke before seeing.
We—the almost-elephants and the turtles—
watch breathless:
they herd and flow,
rolling the earth’s orbit as they pass.
In the dust and silence they leave behind

we unfold our legs and necks,
gather ourselves into a circle
and dance,
letting our bodies sway

with the things we’ve seen,
the things we believe.

– Karen Kubin

Author’s Note: This poem was born out of a Greek lesson on Duolingo. The oddness of the phrase “We are turtles” drew me in, especially alongside “You are not elephants” and “They are horses.” I often use the word “turtle” as a verb to describe an introvert’s tendency to retreat in the face of stress, danger, or conflict, and that zoomorphism grew into this poem. The reality, of course, is that this is a poem about people—particularly those who feel like misfits and outcasts—and what it’s like when they find and support each other.