Reflections

I love the ‘reflections’ that come back from these braided poetry forms. Like something seen in still water, they are an image changed, deepened, shimmering and enchanting. This is from faucon’s C.F. reflection of my Cherita Fitzgerald.

It also happens to be my first attempt at the new form called “Marsh.” Or do you prefer, “Echolalia”? I can’t quite get there. The word reminds me of the pipping repetition often done by autistic children, though I believe it happens with schizophrenia as well. It seems to have an element of ‘meaningless repetition’ to me, that makes me hesitate to want to use it to describe this interesting form. Until further notified . . . here is my first attempt at a Marsh.


The Redwood gazes into pools of memory
The Sequoia looks back
They have reflected together
Soaring serenely, nearly three thousand years
Only the bristlecone is older

Older than man’s momentary remembrance
Remembering Buddha
Remembering Christ
Remembering what Confucius said
Remembering eternities of luscious, liberated air

Air that now burns from a hole in the ozone
Sharp sting of acid in the once quenching rain
Hearing the whirring rumor of chain saws
Knowing the wielding thwack of an axe gone mad
Brief, senseless narcissists, who would end the dreaming

Dreaming deep, drinking earths eternal affirmation
Still they drop their seeds on winds of hope
Silently, sanguinely, awaiting three thousand more years
Dream on Redwood, gazing out into the river of time,
Dream on Sequoia, solid truth of the Breath of God


©Edwina Peterson Cross