You hear him,
seizing night and day
underground in the basement,
loudly listening
with his legs,
scraping
with his forewings,
speaking
in the house,
yet
still
in the wild.
Is he in my dwelling,
or am I in his?
All I know is
being wild is the history
and foundation
of home.
The cricket’s wings travel
through brick
and mortar.
Poem by Kristin Yates
Kristin Yates is home-grown from the backyard, flora and fauna rooting inside the wilderness trail of Lewisville, NC. Her poetry has previously appeared in Salem College’s Incunabula, The New Verse News, and Tiny Seed Literary Journal. Her work can be found at: https://www.instagram.com/beautefantasy/