New Poetry by Carolyn McAuliffe

Song of the Cicada

Backhouse whispers swell to a steady hum like the distant vibration of winged cicadas awakening from a deep-earth-sleep. Bare feet press into splintered oak vying for a peek from a pale square of window, the clutch of lavender bush shuddering in the wind.

Like a debutante’s dress in the backlot of a dancehall, cursory promises of love tease open the seams and separate the girl from the gown. A brunescent hair comb tangles in her hair with the rustle and thrash of taffeta and lace. A twist of spine splayed onto a bed of broken glass, ragweed, and rot. 

Pen and song spit out saccharine little beauties we choke down, staining mouths and backs of our sleeves. Poorly drawn verse presses against scar tissue and decry the girl who has lost her mind! The girl prone to chronic confusion, mania, and frequent hysteria! The girl, the girl, the girl.

Bodies lurch forward like petrified pine, shoulders locked in self-loathing. Church pews lined with bowed heads of mussed hair; palms pressed hard in a caravan of contrition. A trail of incense coats our tongues under the crush of clever inventions. 
Disembodied swathes of satin, chiffon, velvet, and organza float down the tributary like paper doll cut outs, the tangled twigs and river rock expel the soiled reveries of dizzied dancehalls, side street sermons, and unsung joys. 

Like the moon summons the tides, the cicadas will burst through the slightest crack of dry earth. Suck out the poison from the inkwell, gaze out the pale square of window and quiet the smoldering burn of splinters. From head-to-tail trace each stitch along goatskin’s spine and embrace the blessed mayhem of the blank page with the cicada’s song. 

About the Author:

Carolyn McAuliffe resides in Southern California with her husband Mike and son Michael. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. Carolyn’s work has appeared in a Wising-Up Press Anthology, The Motherhood Muse, Califragile, and From Whispers To Roars.