You are lost.

The days churn my ankles,

milking me out,

from underneath

my table of disbelief.

I press into its legs,

fracturing them at their joints,

my plump tendons

pulverizing

between the days’ thumbs

and

my bones.

*

You are lost.

Foam gushing

through the ceiling.

The bedside fan choking, on 

Snot and salt.

*

You are lost.

Hot rods flaring in my sternum,

charging up my clavicle.

But at the dentist they insist

I am only 36.3 degrees.

And they cleaned her teeth too, they say 

And Oh, her laugh! they say

And Yeah, she laughed a lot, I say

And Oh yes, I can imagine! they say.

And my embers surge,

And the hygienist whispers to reception

“The thermostat?”

*

You are lost.

All my hair, pulled up

Up and up and up and up 

Until my neck vertebrae click, and hatch

I am the turkey leg

that you steered away from you

Away from its crinkling, bubbly body

to show me it was done.

On Christmas Day.

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