Eighteen

I am a cicada.

Seventeen years.

I have lived far deeper

Than the rest of my kind

I burrowed too far

And cannot get up.

On my eighteenth year

I'll emerge.

I am later than the rest.

They rise late Spring

Grow

And mature

They are ready and waiting

To become adults.

I am a nymph

Who waited too long.

I was born late Summer

And will emerge accordingly

They cannot wait

To shed their skins

Yet mine I've come

To love.

While they grow

And mature

I may just remain

An eighteen year old Nymph.

In the Summer

When the cicadas rise

I may stay burrowed

Deep and forgotten

As the world

And life

Passes me by.