Cicada

September 05, 2024

by submitted by JCHS Student, Rylee Turner

Cicada

I’ve never been one for summer, nor spring, not even fall.

But that sweet, seventeen-year Cicada sound may be worth the heat after all.

Year round, I long for those days where the morning heat fades into the bitter, dew-damp night.

The one time a season a whole town can gather beneath the stadium light.

When I close my eyes, I can still smell the south bound air, nostrils flared.

I can hear the depth of the brass band to my left, the murmur of tremulous youth to my right.

Across my cheek I feel the heated glow of a September’s night.

Beneath my feet, the never silent purr of the seventeen-year Cicada, a nectarous sound undecayed.

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