Read Poem: CICADAS, by Austin Iredale

August, white
without a cloud.
The heat

has sunk them
all. Shadows
wake like

lead weights
before the morning
falls, and

hang terrible
by every building
and stoop.

We are
reminded of
the heaviness

that precedes
the breaking
of

a branch
a back
a long

hard season
of growing pains.
Summer’s mouth

parched and
sagging, searching
for a cleansing

rain. The street
has marched
itself to dust.

Dry fingers
snap
beneath the trees

impatiently.
And I
wasn’t ready

for
the shaking
of cicadas, or

the crucible
of days.
The earth unstrung

between its poles
like a victim
on a rack.

So many bodies
starved
of breath. I

am ill-equipped
still green and
new. Variegating

in the hard light.
I was only just
beginning

when the cicadas
came and
buckled their ribs

to drone again
of love
and death.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest