alexandrines for a cicada.

Golden Creek Road, Dallas TX: August 1, 2025
Summer suburban sounds -- sprinklers & cicadas.
I'm out for a short walk, all the dog will allow,
when an earthbound flutter (mosquito? grasshopper?)
catches my sunglassed eyes. A tessellated wing
cartwheels along the curb, as if minding some law
of these safe empty streets. The dog panting away,
I linger, studying. (English teacher habit:
Epiphany hunting.) What predator did this?
And what of the halfwing, his flight narrowed anew?
A species synchronized seventeen-year cycle
shrunk down to this orbit, this human neighborhood.

Written in community with VerseLove, a group of mostly educators writing a poem every day of April (National Poetry Month). The prompt for today: Write a poem inspired by an image of nature, beginning with alliteration.


One response to “alexandrines for a cicada.”

  1. You brought me right back to the sounds of my suburban childhood. Only it was sprinklers and June bugs.

    Nodded along to and laughed with:

    “I linger, studying. (English teacher habit:
    Epiphany hunting.)”

    Too true.

    I feel the heartbreak of habitat loss in your ending:

    “A species synchronized seventeen-year cycle
    shrunk down to this orbit, this human neighborhood.”

    Thank you!

    Like

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