By JF Kuehnen
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.
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