After Mary Szybist
Echo who always answered among rocks, spilled
In cairns, in ice caves. I did not
Leave you. Even now I can’t keep from
Listening for you, murmurs & open lips &
Sighs of agreement. I only dream
Of your lilting voice. I say there is no Echo
Except the voice repeating echo, no curse
On the tip of your tongue. I only
Ask for an answer to the question, are you
There? There, there, you say.
Your words like trapped bees
Between us. Cursed nymph,
The silence continues and here are the figs I have
Brought for you, here the ivy to veil
Your face. Echo, what mother is so weighed
Down by words she turns to stones?
It is sound that lives in you between a rock and a hard
Place only a voice. Here I am
Having bathed carefully in silence, rubbed my skin
In oil so even it doesn’t speak. My feet tread softly. Yet
Still you only repeat. You are a only a vessel
For other’s words. I hear you in
The empty hall as I bend to button my child’s coat, in the shrouded cave, even in the open
Spaces yawning like a mouth. Tell me what I want
To hear: daughter, I am proud, proud, proud.