More Cicadas

cicada
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if i were 13 or 17
underground years
but not so buried
deep waiting for my dog-day
not-quite wing song sung
by chance another plague

would you call me a locust?
wrongly feed me inedibles
and shut your screened-in porch?

i rub my stomach
in the thicket and
would curse but

we women make no sound.

hli
5/28/98

Posted by hln at May 27, 2004 12:43 PM | Poetry | TrackBack