Cicadas can live in the dark for years- buried beneath the surface, surviving on roots and instinct. There is no sun, only pressure. In this silence, they grow slowly, unknowingly, carrying the weight of their future voices. This is the season of survival– of suppression, unawareness, confusion, and a quiet longing that hums beneath the soil.

Creating the concept for this book of poetry was challenging. I knew that I had a lot to write about, but I wasn’t sure how it all worked as one cohesive piece. Finally, I found the fragile answer in one of my poems.

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