Thrush Poetry Journal
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Anne Yarbrough
​

Cicada   
 
What’s left of you nestles my palm,
                                   weightless husk
              once birthed headfirst,
                   
                        juice-slicked and stunned,
        patient while the caul slipped away
          and fresh blood welled
              in your wing
—​
 
     little beat            wait            little beat.
   
 
  What it's like to be born,
             how the molecules push apart, hard,
       cutting across the field.
 
And maybe you did loft
    to a high branch,
       as you imagined
you would while you slept underground. 
 
                           I try to imagine you
           imagining this.
 
 
 
You                        could have had that
        for a while,
 
unseen in the hot rafters,
           your canticle unfurling down the alley
     as clerestory light clefts shadowed aisle,
           
                                           
  while girls licking ice cream cones
         murmur down the alley,
             
                  not looking up,
slipping through pattern
—​
     
      shade         halo          shade.





Anne Yarbrough's (she/her) first collection, Refinery (Broadkill River Press), received the 2021 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poet Lore, Gargoyle, CALYX Journal, Cider Press Review, SWWIM Every Day, Spillway, and elsewhere. Her poem, "Smoke," was a finalist in The 2023 Best Spiritual Literature Awards in Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry (Orison Press). She's a 2023 Delaware Division of the Arts Individual Artist Fellow. She lives along the lower Delaware River, which was once called Lenapewihittuck.





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