He Caught The Brittle Cricket,

cupped inside the hand,
little jumps against the palm;
pretend it’s my own pulse.

If this is fear, it seemed to say
in panicked, tapping code,
I’ll leap against
this softened cave.
I think it’s good to run.

Behind them, in the forest
of the absent neighbor’s lawn,
or itching in a chestnut,
August wove a plan:

The trapped are only captive
if they always try to go.
Cricket, stop your kicking;
the boy will open up.

Rick Alley

About Rick Alley

Rick Alley lives and teaches in Norfolk, VA. His first book of poems, The Talking Book of July, is published by Eastern Washington University Press, and his chapbook, August Machine, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. Rick's poems also appear in the anthologies Who Are The Rich and Where Do They Live (Poetry East) and American Poetry: The Next Generation (Carnegie Mellon).
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