Poem: "Cicadas at the End of Summer" by Martin Walls
Photograph: "Cicada" by me
Cicadas at the End of Summer
Whine as though a pine tree is bowing a broken violin,
As though a bandsaw cleaves a thousand thin sheets of
titanium;
They chime like freight wheels on a Norfolk Southern
slowing into town.
But all you ever see is the silence.
Husks, glued to the underside of maple leaves.
With their nineteen fifties Bakelite lines they'd do
just as well hanging from the ceiling of a space
museum —
What cicadas leave behind is a kind of crystallized memory;
The stubborn detail of, the shape around a life turned
The color of forgotten things: a cold broth of tea & milk
in the bottom of a mug.
Or skin on an old tin of varnish you have to lift with
lineman's pliers.
A fly paper that hung thirty years in Bird Cooper's pantry
in Brighton.
"Cicada"
2 comments:
Someday, you'll be able to take this kind of photo with this camera: http://www.lytro.com/ (Check out the gallery)
Although, I confess I want the Lytro camera because I'm a horrible photographer.
I couldn't help but think of that new camera when I posted this pic. The thing is I pretty much did the same thing with this pic by just blurring the majority of the photo except for the cicada. I usually don't like to p-shop my photos too much but I found I could justify it this time.
Post a Comment