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.

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