Poetry
Living Fossils
Crocodiles have hardly changed since dinosaurs prowled the Earth.
Powerful carnivore, known to kill
children, they are survivors, keeping
to the old ways.
Horseshoe crab, another blue blooded
invertebrate, relic from the Ordovician
450 million years ago. Their mouths
are at the center of their five pairs
of legs; they come onshore to breed,
lay thousands of eggs—food for birds.
Labs collect and bleed them for their
amebocytes, detectors of endotoxins
in medicine. Most survive the stress
of handling and transportation.
In spring, snapping turtles mosey over
to my pond. They have their inner maps,
old methods of surviving, wearing a plated
carapace they can’t quite retreat into.
They stay awhile, then lumber along
on clawed dinosaur-feet to the next pond
where there’s more fish to eat. I stay home,
cook beans and greens, stick to the old ways
of women living alone in the woods
with animals. None human.
Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, seminar leader, and is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Atlanta Review, Prairie Schooner, The MacGuffin, Poet Lore, Slant, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.