The Cicada
I stood under a street lamp
warm concrete pressed against my bare feet
and I was caught by the eyes of a cicada.
I knelt and watched it move away,
green and white, ghostly under the light of a street lamp
It seemed to me the most delicate thing, fragile
it’s chrysalis abandoned by all but a few centimeters of thorax.
And my heart beat so loudly for this nub-winged creature
I could feel it through my ribs.
A cry for protection, where before there had been only distaste.
I knelt, a petitioner to the throne, but I did not approach.
“Thank the gods for you,” I said. Black eyes did not blink,
but then, they never do.
I took it’s home away, because the cicada didn’t need it anymore,
and I was longing for a place to put my faith inside.
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