Crickets

“…On a clear summer night, the wind keyed
across the trees, rolling the leaves
like a tambourine…”

Crickets

Through the window of a childhood
home, crickets filled the air with bubbles
that they plucked, stridulation.  A rapid-fire
of vanishing rainbows popping
into chirplets. My grandma used to sing

Good night, sleep tight
don’t let the bed bugs bite
if they do, promise
to catch a few
and we’ll cook ‘em up
for the morning.

On a clear summer night, the wind keyed
across the trees, rolling the leaves
like a tambourine. Jingles falling over
dreams. Bubbles floating across the bath
of my eyes, cavitation. I was an audience. Why
wasn’t that enough?

 

Originally published in concis.io (with audio!).

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