I heard the sky orange and saw the feral cats whisper
beneath the kitchen.

We used to be so mean to the cats that 
slept in the crawl space between the red-speckled floor 
of the kitchen and the masoleum-slab basement where rats
spread poison on saltine crackers to share--
they told each other stories of winter passing 
and laid down in front of the radiator before
they slept with their poison bellies and
heavy electric chord tails--
We waved our arms and watched
the cats scatter and find the under bellies
of mushrooms to creep under-- watched their
eyes turn into quarters-- glint with death
and five fingers tight holding them down--
their backs raptured like garden shovels--
We thought it was a treat to see that something
could be more afraid of the oranging sky than us-- 
I listened for the blue, for the indigo of
August and we all went inside when it started
to sound orange-- buzz orange in our ears--
chased the cats to the corners of the yard
until everything was too loud outside to think--
If it was loud for us I can only imagine
how loud it must have been for them with their
potato chip ears. I know they hate the sound
of orange--
I pressed my hands to the windows of the house--
beat the glass with fists-- watched their paws
run into marrow of the house-- we all stomped on the 
red-smelling floor of the kitchen 
to shake the crawl space. We sat at the kitchen table
and saw them whispering under our feet--
We tried to play red poker and black checkers
while the orange came to pass but everything
looked so loud from there and the cats were
playing prayers-- they found the rats still
sleeping and told them it was better to sleep
through the orange then have to listen.
And I'm sorry I thought myself better than
a feral cat-- 
I hope I'm born again underneath
my kitchen as a feral cat-- I hope short
people with waving hands shoo me away
in blaring orange and the chess
set replaced with garden shovels to dig deeper 
deeper and deeper and deeper until 
we go deep enough that everything only feels
Indigo. I hope the feral cats like the kitchen.
I hope they eat saltines and share with
the rats in their electric chord tails--
sparking blue and indigo--
Keep the poison in the cabinet sealed
away to protect crawl space colonies--
crawled on our knees to fit in the crawl space--
prayed to the rats for forgiveness
and shared saltines before sleep.