by J.E. Beville
I hear crickets and frogs
Even when there are none
In the middle of the afternoon
It only seems right outside the window
They tell me it’s just in my ear.
Sometimes I summon it to sleep
The sound is the cold red clay
Thick air collecting cigarette smoke
Mosquito hawks dancing dangerously
Flood lights and wet grass
Siren call for reptile delight.
The turtles migrate from ditches to ponds
Falling in swimming pools
Climbing cicada and palmetto bugs
There’s a gentle seat carved out there
Sweet tea and bare feet
You’ll never want to leave.