On a warm August day
air thick as custard,
clinging to leaf and stem
cicada chirps a taps, a dirge,
surrendered in the grips
of the Praying Mantis.
What I want is to close my eyes,
to turn away. What I want
is to intervene
to make it stop. But I stay—
Still—
wrapped in the blanket
of cicada’s bittersweet song
same as every other summer sound;
his knell known to the nymph,
his brethren beneath my earth,
or perhaps known only to me.
by Yolanda Coulaz
Yolanda Coulaz, founder of Purple Sage Press, teaches poetry writing workshops and hosts the Farmingdale Library Reading Series. SUNY Stony Brook uses her book Spirits and Oxygen in an advanced course in poetry.
© 2008 YOLANDA COULAZ
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