Poultice

1.

Such is the pulse

at the table under the conversation.
Whorled. A spike driven beneath lids
and swirled like an eggbeater. Turtles
might live indefinitely—turning their hearts
off and on at will—if humans didn’t crush them.

At the top of the stair: curled. Shut
doors. Wall full of mice. Thalamus
means bedroom chamber. Inside:
a rustling of twigs and
bird in the arches. Wings against stone.

I cannot uproot you so completely, you say.
I tell you: transplants
need containers approximately
twice the size. Be sure the spade is sharp
so cuts heal rapidly. Water to settle disturbed soil.

There is the smell again. Mother in bed drinking martinis.