the cicadas, the cicadas and rest
her arms over the frame, the window
folded and pushed aside and she would
listen, just that, doing nothing but noting,
while the high tide of summer night holds
her like a sea, how cicada cicada cicada out of
the earth after seven white years tight in the crush
of earth have crawled to the light, bust
out to beat and drum leg to leg,
to say themselves, over and over.
How do you see or find each other in the hot night and in the mild day?
Do you recognise the lost luggage of your sisters and brothers that clings to telegraph
What is the name of the woman who gathers your transparencies with their sticky frail
Who will make jewellery of your ectoskeletons?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Bush lives in Nelson. She has written three books of poetry. The most recent, All Patients Report Here (Wai-te-ata Press) was written after a short time as poet in residence at Wellington Hospital. The Unfortunate Singer (1997) and The Hungry Woman (2002) are published by VUP.