Sometimes I feel
like a cicada
who couldn’t count,

all those seasons
burrowed in the sweet

dark earth, my
small nymph self
growing and molting into

a briefly beautiful thing for

13 years, or 17, only
to emerge and ascend
too early,  too late,

before or after
the appointed time,
counting only to one,

a solitary imago singing,
unbuckling its tymbals
into the void I thought

you would occupy.




  1. For what it’s worth, this sounds very like some journal years 20+ years back … reading this reminds me how startling it was to encounter “the missed” and find tgether that we’d only been delayed till we were both ready!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Timing is sometimes not a one-shot deal. 🙂 Thanks for reading, Jazz.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I find this both funny and sad at the same time, Cate. ‘Timing is everything’ as they say, and when we get it wrong, doing the best we can by ourselves is what makes our life what it is. -Russ

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Just so, Russ. Although as humans we always tend to want different than we have, simultaneously funny and sad is not a bad way for a poem — or life — to be. 🙂 Thanks for reading, my friend.

      Liked by 1 person

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