Mock Turtle Neck Soup

Stolen Lilies

A slipping away day on the lake.
Molasses swell and fold,
how drift dreamy I am,
dragonflies tandem skim,
Mom says they love each other.
Bullfrogs mudded in,
snakes parting cattails like combs,
the wind flits like things I knew.
I haven’t remembered she’s dying all day.

My pirate paddle ship
sips along for me, slick privateer,
trimming into the hidden cove.
My schemes include contraband lilies.
Illegal for pluck.
I see one deep in,
like a nest of doves’ wings.
No fish and game boats near,
I slide across this dark wax floor.

Then I see it.
A turtle sleeped in the day’s oven,
perched on a log next to my lily.
Quick I ghost,
leaning my length over the bow,
steer the tiller with toes,
stretch out toward the Paint,
eyes open, frantic claws, lunge, breath,
He and I tip...
we’ve got each other.

In the drip splattered boat,
I see his shell is beautiful,
skin streaked warpaint orange.
But turned over – Sick. Leeched.
Open wounds under their acid maws.
Bloodrobbers.

Only now I know why this next happened.
Wild I scratch, dig, rake and raw at them,
pinch and slash, exhale, and boom against,
when they fall on me they latch
but I drag at my skin, evict and bludgeon,
I clean us both to shreds.

It is days later
I find one leech shriveled
in the folds of the lily
in my Mother’s vase.