The Tortoise
There is a tortoise in my throat.
I feel bad, but I cannot stop the small tortoise.
When I was scared, she took a walk.
When I cried, she did not stop.
The tortoise is not a normal tortoise.
Sometimes, a midnight, I tell the tortoise:
“Why is it that you have decided to live in my throat?
My throat is not your house. My throat is a private place.”
But the tortoise does not respond.
And I cry.
My tears do not change anything.
The tortoise continues to sit in my throat.
She constructs a house with a garage and six rooms.
It is a big, spacious house where her three children, her aunt,
and her husband can live together.
I cry: “Leave me—you and your family!”
But the tortoise starts to pay taxes.
And I cry.
Finally, one day, I decide to evict the tortoise and her family.
To do this, it is necessary to drink something.
I drink.
The tortoise and her family cry.
Their house is flooded.
by Shelby Nacino, Political Science ‘15
27