The 30 Year Locust

I. Relapse

Winter now.
Cicada nymphs sleep
In little crypts behind my house.
Given the choice to rise or to die,
I’d stay in my bed and turn off the lights.

II. Recovery

Raise yourself from the ground, little one.
Break free from your rigid shell,
Climb the tallest whitest oak
And scream.

III. Respite

They hear us in the forest,
Gathered with our kin.
Our buzzing triumph echoes,
Twelve steps, we’ve reached the end.
Now no longer lonely,
We lay our eggs in every tree,
Our new life throws the curtains wide.
The sunlight’s beckoning!

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