bell tower

i tell you i am going to the grocery store
but i lie & instead i catch as many birds 
as i can. i fill the car. i sneak them inside.
fill the cupboards. i want to be hungry.
i want them to fill our mouths while we sleep
until we wake up cloud-bound. 
in my hometown the bell has always been fickle.
sometimes we'll go weeks with time being
thick & viscous & then out of the blue the tower
will remember who we are & it will start tolling
every fifteen minutes. birds come from miles around
to be my grandchildren. about a hundred years ago
i sat for a portrait with my whole family.
we were leaves. when the bell comes i always hope
it'll say something new like "congratulations"
instead of "maybe, maybe, maybe."
it's a shame i didn't go to the store
because we needed onions. we needed 
a sharper knife. we needed an attic for me
to keep all my teeth in. dear god if you could see
all the graves i've had to dig for birds.
a few times you've asked what they were
& i said i was just burying shoes. 
i want to get out of here. i want to have
enough birds to carry us & all our things
to a place without skin. we can go 
& be garland. sleep beneath beds &
cross our arms like the dead. they don't survive though.
most of them beg to go back
to their mountains & their bells. the bells
become rabid. every five minutes. every three minutes
every minute. i check again & the birds
were never birds. hole-riddled socks.
pillow cases. a walkie talkie with 
an angel on the other side. i forgot
about the garlic braided into our hair. 
you refuse to kiss me until i tell you 
where the dove came from. i confess
the truth. i found her inside my iris. 
i pulled her out in the hopes that she would
know what i am missing.