Not Far Back

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Not Far Back


Tsunami-swell of cicada washed over 

the scald of late Georgia July,

then receded back into the deep 


cool of autumn lettuce and mulch 

beneath the Bradford Pear. 

How quickly we drop


back to sleep after being

swarmed with meat and red-eyed

wonder. Just months ago we were


pulsed from our pillows and deposited

on porches in the moist dark 

of morning, that transient space 


where we had no trouble believing 

in the world’s grating hallelujah

and that other world sucking on the roots 


beneath our very feet. Come now, 

do we really need to wait 

another seven years?  

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