i pulled a turnip from the dirt

& the whole world caved in.
slipping of soil. not the roots 
or the pipes or the wires 
could hold this together. 
a round purple-ish turnip. 
i clutched it like a telephone reciever.
a dial tone pouring from all the pipes
& i drifted to the bottom of a jar.
all the glass in the world 
won't make a promise of you. 
pterodactyl wings bracketing 
this afternoon. where did the soot go?
the permafrost? the oil?
a strawn punched into an oil tank:
i tell all the histories to drink.
then, of course, our brothers
are somewhere else in all this slipping.
a book balanced on their heads.
i'm trying to fall apart 
with skill. one of them will blame us
for pulling the root from the yard.
he will say
how could you not know 
the role of a turnip so glossy & wide?
but it was all the wanting
that got in the way. i Google
in my soul because there is no more wifi.
the desctruction snapped our laptops
like saltines. Google tells me 
i need to find a lover
& pull a lock of his hair
to start undoing this. i find no one 
but a single quivering ear of corn.
pulling corn hair 
& stuffing my pockets, i dream of a man 
made of corn standing tall 
& beautiful. he would never tempt me
like the turnip did. why is it all
so fragile? go on world
pull yourself back together.
the dirt turns to sand
& the sand turns to pearls.
a great pile of necklaces.
the beads are cool across my skin
& i find a single gaping clam 
at the bottom. press my finger
to its tongue. the clam laughs.
i hope to wake up & not remember
any of this. i hope to rise
in a field of skunk cabbage
with the sun setting
purpling like the turnip. 
i put a sting of pearls 
in my mouth to take back 
with me.