The cicadas come at night, after you
fall soundly in the trance of your booklight,
buzzing pages. Forget, there’s no undo.
The cicadas come at night,
arriving several years apart despite
love’s hindwings clung to bark whose heart is true.
We burrow in those pages craving sight
and air and words– we gather in droves to
kiss your hand though you think it is a bite.
We wait years and always return to you.
The cicadas come at night.
(originally published in The Road Not Taken, Summer 2016)
You’re one of the only WordPress blogs whose posts I have sent directly to my inbox, and when they arrive my day becomes a little more gentle. This one in particular struck me because my roommate and I just had a discussion a few hours ago on our front porch about cicadas, listening while they began their high-pitched singing in the dark.
Hey there! I apologize for taking so long to respond to your comment. Your kind words really mean a lot to me– I’m so grateful my writing resonates with you. Hope you are well, and if your writing exists anywhere in public, would love to check it out. Thanks again.