# Peppermint on the Lamb **by Violet Treadwell Hull** Nails too short to really leave a mark For necromancers In german woolen coats But the possibility of a scratch Is the only promise That keeps the drifting at bay The textured times always win In hand and in heart And in this little jaw that could Formidable tranquil and taciturn Teeth that clatter and chomp Find the cud Making the sweater twist into a real sweat And finding each fiber alive with moss An ecosystem of the sloth’s back The ground breathes steam The grass holds steady in the trenches So many worms move that they start a fire The air is the coldest and the dirt is winter stew The trees talk Who done it this time? Who told the worms it was dancing time? Who keeps the time? Down here The weather decisive But only moment to moment Leaves the weakened weakened And the men who keep the ground watch on A time table of the one harp player A lunch card for he who combs the beach They would do anything to let the fog wet their socks And teach the power of temperatures Or to hear the sister steams of the compost mingling Self payment And self prophecy Eat at the same table From the same spoon And with twin tongue Dabbed with the same handkerchief Find time for this feast In due time you may be the soup And each freckle the pepper Long strands of DNA gathered At the bottom of the bucket While the mess hall stifles their choking on this fibrous offering Unfettered by a splintered stirring ladle Laden with fine wine and pine needles Encrusted with the finest minerals that ever touched a fossil These and more will be woven The pressure applied The corners of the mouth raw The found had been filled The ground leapt and rolled to a carpet The sweat drooled down to spin in tandem with the ripe oils of broth It will take on rosemary and thyme It will bitter and sweeten On a see saw of bud Pluck the tree from your tooths And find that snuffed out key To our best house I worry that Flies whisper “No one near her could be me” But I've found the bugs in her door frame And I've crushed them all into Narrow silver and electric seams in my side These rivers roar for reckoning Tea and cakes Of mist coated in sugar I will bite you soft You'll see And we can reflect on the time that half my mouth ballooned I laughed then and now because I've never been symmetrical And elbows still move on their own Tin lined joints But nothing creaks Only crackles A salve made of metal and juice applied by the most diligent Maybe it even soothes The resident crow’s foot And the warm patch of blister that make lips seen It will swell and I will sway It would be so cruel of you to show up now Because my face is strawberries But maybe you can fall to tempo When you find me hardening In a wet newspaper paradise Everything to nothing Nothing to something And something to worse Who pays? Who drives? Who keeps time? Who finds it? Who holds onto your left side? While I chase your right.