It wasn’t me, I swear
It just fell from the sky
Right next to me
Falling through layers of air
A loud thumb
Sealed its fate
Or perhaps it was
After sixteen years
Of sleep it screamed
In agony over life
Now it lies here
Body intact, soul astray
Food for thought
I recently found out that cicadas spend 16 years under ground, asleep or hatching or whatever they call growing down there. I only knew them as the screamingly loud animals keeping me from my sleep. But now I understand. The shock of light and the fighting for survival would be enough reason to scream of agony.
Rest in peace, dear cicada.
And thank you for not dropping dead right on my head.
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After about two weeks in the United States, there is to much too keep in. Writing seems the only sane response to the variety of experiences that cannot be but leave an impression.
After about two weeks in the United States, there is too much to keep in. Writing seems the only sane response to the variety of experiences that cannot be but leave an impression.
I could start with the initial wonder, those couple of days walking around in a haze, the filmset that was movie around me, that I didn’t want to touch anything so that it would not become too real. The steam coming out of put holes in the streets of New York. People walking like they have nowhere to be except right there, in that walk, walking the walk, as stand-ins, always ready for something to happen. The woman in the metrostation randomly starting to talk to me about her life. The people asking me if I have a problem with black men. The New York skyline from a rooftop in Astoria, and it not sparkling me as it should.
Continue reading “Surrender upon demand | US experience part one”