Cicada

Brandi Everett

 buried eulogies

         met crosslegged 

sun tattooing august’s heat 

 on a bent neck

this summer was different. no one preached resurrections

in suits too warm for noontime sun

                & you go. you go deeper than i can follow

 memorial stone

      cracks sealed in granite sacral

   soft thigh

against withered grass 

this summer you aren’t here. no one is & i’m not either.

  rather. not as who you’ve known me to be

                & i know. i know we are both shells aren’t we?

taste it.  mouthfuls of humidity

while crawling from tymbal cases 

grasp the ancient sycamore trunk mid oration

last summer she said no one had a premonition

& who stares that long at tea leaves

          & i am also squeezing. 

                         squeezing from what contains me.

new born celeriac priestess in jeweled bindi 

   chanting dormant requiems

 briefest season of those who also sing alone.

Brandi Everett is a midwestern poet who finds her inspiration in nature, her own Appalachian heritage and the folk stories that are common to humanity. She has served as a theater teacher and a Poet in Residence and is currently pursuing a degree in creative writing. She has been most recently published in Winged Penny Review, Gradaran Journal, and Heartwood Literary.