Healing
Carter Steinmann
Homemade syrup wrapped in her hand,
slow dripping
just a half-a-spoonful
black as tar
a piece of cloth, a little powder
pressed to navel
a small hardbound book wrapped tightly
in cotton butcher’s twine
heated water, bared down,
buried it
packs of literature greased with castor oil
smokin’ over the fire
pulled mouths open, gaping like sea bass,
with a hooked finger
held hands and knees to spread them bones,
til she healed