help me bury

He remembers catching lizards in laundry baskets with a mother in a house where the
latches fall off and he is trapped (except for the side window) in the little glory of his room. then Sunday and there is a little
bundle, neat something mewing
sounds like a cat, he thinks, but this cat is pink and it seems to have no hair where there should be hair a strange cat, he thinks but obviously, it will leave.
the cat doesn't leave and instead grows, grows up and out and attached to his mother
all of the day
(and sometimes secretly at night too you see)
so he remembers sneaky one day to push the little thing out the door, roll it down the steps to the drive and down the dark gurgle-hole at the end out to the oysters
and the bay
and he remembers the bat swooping past his mum and her quick, high 'shit' the frizz of her hair then, the arc of the bat and his mother all grown up, pink sweater and
culottes and all and
he thinks there that that little world, his glory, was remarkably large
if you include the dead bats and the pigeons and the rat (half rat really) that time
that riddle the ground of the side-passage you'll have a good idea of the temptation
he remembers finding long and slender white - the knee bone of a hu - horse...horse..
because this acre held a gelding or two in the last rural tipping of the shire into
suburb.
and If you take all Sunday to come back, halfbound wheelchair and all and don't move
again for those three hot weeks, we'll all together drive sombre round - a man-mobile
of strength and worms and dirt and nothing but the tears we're holding back
I'm asking you to walk, again for the time and all, you reached past my face and cross-
snitched an ornamental tree upon my heart, thank you.