Common Ground

Brown and black cricket on grass

You hear him,
seizing night and day
underground in the basement,

loudly listening
with his legs,

with his forewings,
in the house,

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: