Music of My People
Several elements collided then colluded, crashing in my cranium. Early morning walk, the summer’s lease hot in the air, and then? Cicada. Cicadas. The universal noise of summer. The song of my summers.
Crawl out of the earth’s womb; shed a layer of skin; scream for three days; die.
Cicadas: the songs of my people. I found the brass pen holder online (Etsy) — as a perfect reminder of the songs of my people.
Music of My People
