The Very Public Death of a Cicada
It wasn't me, I swear
It just fell from the sky
Right next to me
Falling through layers of air
A loud thumb
Sealed its fate
Or perhaps it was
Already dead
After sixteen years
Of sleep it screamed
In agony over life
Until now
Now it lies here
Body intact, soul astray
Food for thought
And cats
~ @nobyeni
I recently found out that cicadas spend 16 years under ground, asleep or hatching or whatever they call growing down there. I only knew them as the screamingly loud animals keeping me from my sleep. But now I understand. The shock of light and the fighting for survival would be enough reason to scream of agony.
Rest in peace, dear cicada.
And thank you for not dropping dead right on my head.
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : http://www.nobyeni.com/2018/06/26/the-very-public-death-of-a-cicada/
I think the loud buzzing is less agony and more calling for a girl cicada to get it on with—then die. But who knows, maybe the anticipation is agony. What a life, eh, 16 years in the dark, then in short order: singing, sex, death. What a life!
They haven't come out here yet. I'm looking forward to it. I enjoy the sound.
It sounds like agony to me. Maybe that is attractive, maybe not.
Two years ago when I was in China it was deafening and hard to fall asleep at times. Now it's mostly still silent. And then this dead one dropped right next to me. Taking me along in his death... almost.
I have many friends (Japanese and foreign alike) who feel the same as you. I guess I'm strange in that I find the sound relaxing. It reminds me of the ocean.
Food for cats indeed. My cats love eating dead flies. They're like little crunchy raisins. I can't imagine them eating a cicada. In China, they probably eat cicadas all the time.
It's probably a delicacy.
Yes, probably. I've noticed the more expensive something is, the better it is to avoid it due to the level of delicacy. Yet also don't order the cheapest thing on the menu, or you'll get intestines. Unless that's your thing, obviously.
Where I live, cicada season corresponds with the end of summer. I hear them singing in the trees (sounds like singing to me) and then find their bodies on the ground. It all seems like the cycle of life, when it happens. Kind of sad, and inevitable. I hear the cicada and think, another season has passed. There are only so many summers in a lifetime.
I know your poems was much lighter than this--and it is a lovely poem--but beware when you write poetry: never know where it takes the reader. I read the poem this morning and put it aside because I didn't have time to comment. Wanted to be sure to let you know it had an effect on me. Best compliment you can pay a poet, I think.