The Cicada

I stood under a street lamp

warm concrete pressed against my bare feet

and I was caught by the eyes of a cicada.

I knelt and watched it move away,

green and white, ghostly under the light of a street lamp

It seemed to me the most delicate thing, fragile

it’s chrysalis abandoned by all but a few centimeters of thorax.

And my heart beat so loudly for this nub-winged creature

I could feel it through my ribs.

A cry for protection, where before there had been only distaste.

I knelt, a petitioner to the throne, but I did not approach.

“Thank the gods for you,” I said. Black eyes did not blink,

but then, they never do.

I took it’s home away, because the cicada didn’t need it anymore,

and I was longing for a place to put my faith inside.