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It's crickets, we say, meaning the silence after a poem, when we lift our eyes to the camera's gaze and to our invisible, muted audience who might or might not be there. It seems unfair to crickets, who insist on being heard, on calling out, "I'm here! I'm here! I need you!" Wouldn't…
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It's crickets, we say, meaning the silence after a poem, when we lift our eyes to the camera's gaze and to our invisible, muted audience who might or might not be there. It seems unfair to crickets, who insist on being heard, on calling out, "I'm here! I'm here! I need you!" Wouldn't it be sweet if after a poem we heard a gentle crescendo…
