Lily, Next Summer

Hear the cicadas,
how they set up such a whirring,
a drum roll coming close.

Aunt Addie would say
it's a beautiful music,
fanfare to a queen.

I imagine I am the princess
in a silvery blue dress
and a sparkling crown.

But it's just the bugs
rubbing their legs, twitching
in the cottonwood tree

And Addie is gone,
leaving her baby
small and always crying.

How will she grow up
without her mama? Who will tell her
about the new cross on the hill?

I still dream of dancing.
But the cicadas show up
in my nightmares.