A Call From A Cicada Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

I love the sound of a cicada! I remember as a child hearing that sound in late summer when the air was heavy with the hottest temperatures in the year. And during that brief heat wave the cicadas marked the passage of time. It was wistful, bittersweet, because it meant summer would soon give way to autumn, but while it lasted cicada season enveloped me with its loveliness. And I felt enveloped by Venice in your poem. I have never been to Italy, although there is an Italy in my mind from my long familiarity with Renaissance art and poetry. And Venice! ! The name alone is magical. Your poem brought that magic into my apartment, and your words made me feel at least some of the atmosphere of the fabled Venetian days and nights. Through my windows I can still fragments of a particularly brutal winter this year, but reading this poem has transported me to a temperate, lush, and altogether seductive realm. I want to stay there, I want to be there!