One Last Cicada Cry by Lori Yamamoto

old home dusk folds into one last cicada cry cardboard boxes smell of rice steam and cedar i wave shy bye to a sky not-quite-blue plane hums all night dreams spill like loose pachinko balls morning lands grey ypsilanti snow whispers nobody waves sidewalks stare then look away hello sticks fast to the roof of my mouth square peg heart knocks against round town’s quiet doors i smile crooked laughter falls out upside-down perfect maybe the only song i can hum off-key and soft still it keeps my hands warm street signs stand straight i wander diagonal paths english bends strange like paper cranes in rain they can’t fool me my crooked thoughts fit just fine inside coat sleeves lined with leftover home if you see me lost between stoplight and lake please don’t run off i carry small cookies friend-shaped pockets we can share the lost crumbs even if it makes no sense, like me