The Year of the Turtle

We carried it home in a salty pail; the bones of a monster. Freddy said it was an alien; his dad had seen their ships shining like sixpences in the sky. When we tipped the bucket, seawater and bones slopped. For a moment the loosely strung carcass swam. I wondered if it was a small mermaid, or a mermaid’s daughter. Freddy poked it with his foot. “Look at its head,” he said; “it’s got no teeth.” That settled it. We agreed it was a drowned space kid. That night I dreamed it’s leathery beak opened and sang of deep green star-pools.