The Hatching

by Dean McHugh

 

Hatching of the Magicicadas
Summer, 2021

We have come here for terror.
For the fruit of seventeen years 

of nectarous roots, quenching
another new generation. 

The babel of Brood x escalates—
“Pharaoh!” ricochets through the plains. 

Exoskeletons from the moult
lie discarded as rifle casings; 

some still clinging to weeds, others
shuddering in the lunar winds. 

Rain hushes the season’s tumult—
the freshening of ancient waters. 

Locusts inter each other.
Like clockwork, metamorphosis turns 

from imago to disillusion.
A shiver runs down the soil
returning the electric sensation
to some unturning evolution, some history
from which all revolution springs.