Cicada by Anna Egan Smucker
In a sidewalk crack—
its shell,
a burst of life
after years
in darkness,
waiting.
As your eyes close
and trees disrobe,
remember sun, the juice
of a perfect pear, shiver
of first love, stars in water
unruffled, deep.
The rush of rain,
an ocean’s
roiling undertow;
the waves you named
for sorrows
and let them go.
Night and the rocking
of your tiny boat,
the slap, slap that made
you breathe in light;
the trees, the trees—
their new wet leaves.
