to be serenaded every night.
But people do that.
The bugs sing to seduce yet keep on singing after
every orgasm for the pure joy
of it, I guess.
What a world!
I love to hear them on my evening walks but try
not to visualize a thousand black bugs squeezing
their hind legs together.
How that kills my reverence!
Tonight along the water's edge embraced
by leafy trees of varied ethnicities,
among them a splattering of lost marigolds.
crickets croon to me and
a jolt of their joy rips through me.
A jolt of privilege to walk in this lovely place
where it is safe except for the frightened snake
& a family of raccoons rustling the brush and thistle.
My house is not in flames.
My family not bombed.
My son not being waterboarded.
No army turns off my water.
Stops the delivery of food.
I have medicine.
This feels like a miracle!
Because elsewhere (you know where)
whole families are hunted like prey.
Even the stars above them die with less pain.
But here the oleander
that seemed dead all winter
is alive & abundant, well watered.
How did I get so lucky?
My wings rub together with the band
of crickets.
Whom do I thank for all this?
No comments:
Post a Comment