A meandering glide,
a slow drift
toward the ancient cypress
and its jutting knees
weathered by a thousand years
of storms and searing sun, surrounded
by water sprawling over and withdrawing
from spongy earth.
Yet that massive white trunk endures.
We listen to the frogs,
the red-winged blackbirds,
hope for a glimpse of the almost extinct
ivory-billed woodpecker,
resident here for centuries.
This poem first appeared in Seeding the Snow.
—
Poet Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. Among the anthologies and journals in which her poetry has appeared are: Feral, The Widows’ Handbook, Writers Resist, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rise Up Review, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Peacock Journal, Wordpeace, New Verse News, Portside, Your Daily Poem. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, as well as the Best of the Net and Bettering American Poetry anthologies.
