So I'm from Virginia.
I grew up on the East Coast, so a lot of the poems in this book
are about Virginia or just feature some of that landscape.
So there's a lot of green, and this poem
started in a memory of cicadas.
I don't know if you all have-- yes-- experienced cicadas.
I remember the first time as a kid,
they came up from the ground right after seven years.
And I have this memory that I don't know
if it's real or not anymore.
I guess it doesn't matter anymore,
but we all let them crawl all over us at the playground.
And I remember kids daring each other to eat them.
I know, gross.
And I honestly can't remember if they did or not, but in my mind,
I think we did.
So Cicada Summer.
"The cicadas come from the ground
and enter the world in currents, streaming down tree trunks,
over branches, across sidewalks and roads, the males pulsing
their abdomens, singing for sex.
In the field behind the school, Suzi and her classmates
stand still as dozens climb over their bodies,
careful not to crush the winged insects
beneath their feet, fearful of littering
the ground with broken glass.
Suzi collects every wing she can find.
Each one becomes a small body of water she carries in her pocket,
a broken window pane she holds to each eye.
She counts dozens more on her way home
and imagines how they would taste.
Hands in her pockets, touching the wings, each fingertip,
she wonders, would they still sing on the way to death,
and would it sound any different?
Today, she walks through an even field of green and spits
into tall grass, the roots of trees,
listens as the clicking of cicadas
fills her body with song.
The green lacerates her ankles, and she imagines her blood,
mixed with dirt, will nourish, will add to the muscle tremor
of the Earth."