The Next Neighborhood Over
By
Radiance Angelina Petro
Trying to follow the sound
Of the cicadas is what it’s like
Trying to follow the sound
Of god.
Cicadas throw their voices
And you can think one
Is right up in that tree over there,
When, in fact, it is actually
In a tree in the next neighborhood over.
Trying to trace the sound
Of god one finds oneself
Tracing figures in the air,
Or wishes on the shore.
Listening to the sound
Of god is much easier
Than asking the source
Of that sound questions.
When the cicada stops singing
And falls unseen
From its branch high up
In the tree, the silence
Signals us that change is here—
We realize waiting for answers
Is foolish and a waste–
Autumn is coming.
So we had better be prepared.
When we notice
There is no singing in the trees,
When we realize we have forgotten
Entirely about the sound—
We know winter is here.
And if we don’t do something
Outlandish and daring
In order to try making the sound
Ourselves,
Our ears will freeze over with regret,
Our hearts will harden from lack of use.
And our dreams—the ones
We used to use as compasses
To follow the sound
Of god, will be carried away, like
The shell of a cicada,
Like the shell of a sound,
Like the shell of a god
That used to play
Hide and seek with us
From the next neighborhood over.
This one is gorgeous!
Thank you Mandy.
Love this poem – Beautiful! Thank you.