cave crickets

we do our rituals in the kitchen
where no one eats but me.
a hole in the wall opens & closes 
like a fist. i sometimes feed it forks.
the forks are never enough & i cannot
understand what it craves. 
i tried once to follow the cave crickets.
it was early pandemic & i was becoming
more & more animal each day. 
i even tried to make an exoskeleton.
surfaced my bones & took pictures
for the internet. the cave crickets
let me down gently. they led me 
to the basement with the nailed shut door.
i tried to barter with my eyes for prophecies.
i told them, "you can take the left one."
the crickets have witnessed 
the turning of the soil. birds turning
into planets from want of a lover.
they told me, "we have eyes. you do not."
a darkness spilled like a paint can 
across the dirt. the cave crickets
talked all night. i got proficient 
at their language. i am used to being
a cusp being. not quite. not quite.
just enough. music in a jar. knocking on
the nailed shut door at night.
i do not know if it was a dream or not
but i think i joined them just once. 
maybe i had contorted enough to fit in.
we sang. we traced the shadows. cool
& damp. my phone rang. the window 
opened & crows came in to steal forks
& knives. i never got away with it again.
i think they just took pity on me.
do they talk about me still? flesh & water.
my bones, dull white in the kitchen.