Cicada, July 5th

I live in the skin the 

cicada shucked.
I crawled in one day, just ‘cuz

I crunch, not able to
bend at the knees,
cling to my wings half folded on my
rounded back.

I live the side of this
tree.

Ree-ch-ch-ch-ch,
I call,
but I don’t do the sound very
well. 

It’s all noise, anyway, really,
when you think about it.

I can’t embellish an awkward moment
(cricket, cricket)

Tell you the heat of the moment
(cricket, cricket)

I don’t speak my name
(katy-did, katy-did)

I sound
nails on
chalkboard.

I cringe at the sound of my own
impression

I don’t need to ask if I look
ridiculous

Look, I’m wearing an
insect’s clothes.

Au natural, if you
must. 

Bowery Poetry Room, NYC, July 5th 2012

Tags: cicada crawl cricket poetry writing