We have been fascinated with the advent of the seventeen-year cicadas. Their presence is overwhelming and many consider them a nuisance, but I see their life cycle as a thing of wonder. This poem is an expression of that wonder.
Spellbound for sixteen years
But on the seventeenth -
Spell breaks.
Earth breaks.
Silence breaks.
Grub of the dust
Is clothed in wings
of flame, body of ebony, eyes of ruby -
a sudden dragon -
and it sings!
Poor things
old earth treaders scorn the sound
of long-pent revelry
from creatures of the underground.
Clamourous and clustering,
Dissonant, disruptive
Impertinent, invasive,
and incredible
What giddy joy of wings!
Whirr, tumble, dive,
electrify the air,
and stop to sing.
Soon all this rush of noise,
resonance of the short-lived glorified
each orange-veined glass
of skyblown wing
Will drop into the quiet grass
and crumble to the patient earth
Until another birth
