The Cumberland River

sucks venom from heel blisters.

I hurl sopping boots (they soaked up

A whole summer storm 6 miles back).

 

They clonk

near a box turtle

who extracts her limbs,

her exposed head,

 

makes herself a boot.

 

She tilts an orange eye toward the sole,

Slides out a leg,

toes an inch, two, three

Away—

Forward–

surprised each time

she peeks through the safety

and lumbers on.