The magicicada have been living quietly
under my ribcage
in nymph form
for seventeen years
Silently observing my inner workings
my maturing
Now they emerge
with a deafening sound
a flight of musical notes
from some double forte experimental jazz gone wrong
They don’t stop with their song
until I am thoroughly unraveled
When I can’t bear another moment of the cacophony
they begin to drop to the ground
one by one
dead
their mission complete
The missing symphony of life
that I waited for unawares
all those years
I cover my ears
to block out the silence
hope their sound might return
