crickets
geraldine connolly
Hear them in my bath tub
and in my pantry,
rusty hinges creaking.
*
I turn out the light
to listen. Rub and scrape.
The mystery of their
tiny velvet shrieks!
*
There are nine crickets
below the stairs.
Without their song,
a vast silence of lost socks
and empty suitcases stretches.
*
Cricket of luck, I hear you.
I cradle your notes in my palm.
Cricket of hardship, I crush you
with my giant shoe.
*
You sound like a train.
Escape from me. Go wake
the dead whose nervous ears
are covered with dirt.
*
Recluse with legs of grass,
black harp pawned
for a gambling debt, listen.
A crutch under each elbow,
you’re shotgun pulse, fresh bait.
*
You lay yourself
in the shadows
like sleek trout.
You feast on book bindings
and plaited script.
*
To say I recognize you
makes my head narrow
and my legs ache
with fighting songs.
I am all knees and hair shirt.
I come looking when you call.
copyright © 2007 geraldine connolly
"crickets" appeared in Red Brick Review
leaves copyright © 2007 gloria baker feinstein
copyright © 2007 ensemble jourine
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