There’s a cricket living in my heater.
I feed him leaves through the dusty grate and listen to his chirping at night.
A few days ago I tried my best to lead him out,
And created a path for escape through my living room window —
But he stayed in his spot and chirped,
and forced us
Every morning I check my heater
only to see the path I created for him remain
His chirps lull me through my nightmares,
on evenings when I leave my window open,
the cold sneaking in and settling deep within
I paint my old heater forest-green
To make him feel at home.
A small thank you for his nightly song,
the one that holds my hand
and leads me through a yellow field,
an endless sea of stars burning bright above us —
and the songs of crickets and cicadas