The Secret Life of Toril the Cricket
Toril likes to ride trains.
Not inside,
they’d never let a cricket on
without a ticket.
And anyway crickets don’t have money.
Toril rides on top.
The wind, like a hungry bird, tries
to pluck Toril from the scratchy silver roof
of the dining car.
The people eating in there have no idea
of the magnificence just over their heads.
Crickets are really good at holding on,
so the wind stays hungry
and settles for licking instead of biting.
Toril sings the way boy crickets sing.
He chooses the way girl crickets choose.
Other crickets never know what to do with her.
Toril doesn’t care about boys or girls,
ze only wants movement, wind,
and scratchy silver to cling to.
Once riding through a city Toril saw cats on rooftops, dozens,
watching the sun set like silent monks.
Once riding through the country Toril saw cows lined up, marching in a sea of tall grass,
and, perched behind their leader’s ears, a hundred butterflies like a lion’s mane.
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