2 kinds of graveyards & red birds 

in the graveyard for stray cats 
there are no tombstones 
just a field where all birds fall out the sky.
great birds too like an owl & 
a wood pecker along with 
the filler birds that have no names.
mom tells me there are red birds
other than cardinals. all red birds
are born from bondfires or 
gashes is thighs. a red bird 
comes to knock at my windowsill 
& leaves me a pocket watch &
a lock of blonde hair 
of unknown origin. they are calling for
red skies in july & i am looking forward 
to the licorice that will grow
in the front yard. 
i've started
saving my blood in jam jars
in the hopes of giving life to 
a few good red birds.
if not i will pour it in the creek
& watch it blood. the first giant squid
leaves the water & floats above town
like a great airship. the government
shoots it down, mistaking it for 
a bomber. the beast falls in a corn field
& me & the towns people circle
the squid. its eyes are the size
of our faces. some want to dismantle 
the squid & others 
want to pretend they never saw it.
the ocean is always closer than you think.
some people have never been to the beach
but the beach has been to them. 
sand under your fingernails. sand in your teeth.
the faucet pours sand until
i remind it we need water.
i fill the bathtub with water
for red birds to bathe in
& i tell them secrets. this is
a sleepover. we giggle with our 
spare throats. i tell them
we really should be going to bed
but we stay up later & later
until the sky itself packs it in.
just us in all the blankness.
in the field where the squid died.
no skeleton 
just a beak laying
in the tall grass like
a talismen.