Turtle Soup

I pull out the memory cord.

A turtle crawls from the socket,

Across the hardwood flooring

And up onto the mattress.

He sits there,

Bobbing his head up and down.

I follow in rhythm,

Hypnotized.

 

A spring shoots through the mattress

And the turtle soars,

Through frosted dreams,

Over salted sins,

Landing upon a frozen lake

Two kilometers off,

On the south beach.

 

I pull on my coat,

Boots and gloves,

Grabbing a lantern

On the way out.

I go after my shelled saviour.

He was able to speak,

I’m sure.