turkey leftovers i was your beautiful carcass once. my mother fills the turkey's heart with lemons & the juices pour out where a head once was. the head is hiding elsewhere in a bin of turkey heads. once, i spread out on your mattress & the bed became an oven. an orange-red heat. you rubbed oil into my shoulders & called me love love dear dear. can a turkey fly? can meat love? can a feather return? i laid all my bones on the table. some for soup & some for staring & some for witchcraft. you kissed savory into me. made a dinner between my ribs. you whispering, what would you like to eat tonight? my reply, who do you wish i was? we make use of every morsel. mother boiling the hollow turkey cathedral. the house smelling like grey-sky. salt dangling in the air like pecks from beaks or on cheeks. boys are all butchers of one kind or another. the knife you kept in your dresser. the knife i hid in my own throat. still, it was me who cut his tongue. it was you who hauled the bird like a god. i'll be feasting on us for the whole rest of my life. shoot another bird. mom washing the big iron tray in the tiny sink trying to rid the grit & gristle of a bird.