The Girl Who was Phylliidae
I thought this evening of crickets
while walking in to work, and despite
my shuffling feet I heard them calling in the sycamores
their monklike drone broken by the random click of katydids
How fragile their lives!
only a few weeks to live, to die
their recollections consisting of tonight,
and perhaps through buggy hum, a glimpse of last night
What makes up reality for them?
their single song of summer carries on
before the darkening of eye, silencing of voice
how then the private hell the cased cicada must feel!
I thought again of crickets;
after a colleague shared sad news
a missing nephew on a business trip, and
for three days, his future wife in a cocoon of grief
today they found him
he and his brother and father
in a shattered shell of a plane, lost to the trees
the broken chrysalis, and all their pennon souls departed!
life so newly remembered as fragile~
filled moments so normal as to take for mundane
these are the days to sing, our days each so rare
how hard it is to find the Phylliidae for the leaves.
And now she hides, green fronds over face
while the sun beats down in polar summer closeness
the crickets are all still in the stifling heat, waiting
as over in a sister tree we hear the call of a mourning dove.