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Frost Notes |
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Anthology |
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Judith Brice Robert Frost has more than a few great tree poems, the best known of which are "Tree at My Window" and "Birches." In her particular choice of the cottonwood tree, Brice goes right to the heart of a particular world.
Cottonwoods I. It took all day, the felling of the cottonwood, Two lumberjacks, lean and tough, Grasping the ancient saw between Their rough and work-hewn hands. (Until that year we never knew about cottonwoods: How they could shed their seeds and Drape the world with snow in spring! Nor did we see the flickering leaves as they grabbed each sigh of air--- For what we knew, trees were trees to climb!) But this one was too big, our parents told us, “Too big, and it might be a danger to our cottage”, And so we watched, stroke by stroke as the saw nabbed the tree. We gulped our juice and ate our sandwiches as we sat on neighboring stumps. The saw moved, steady, into the pulp. The men, expressionless, worked their job. The Lake listened, waiting for the massive splash. And then it came. And it was new: Louder than our ears could hold, Then silent as a stone,
skipped cold. II. Then it was our turn, for a time: I do not know when I first learned my legs could balance: Even, steady. Though I do see now in my memories’ eyes, That time amid the cottonwood branches When it became our sport, to walk out as far as we could, One foot Holding the tree In front of the other, Lest we fall like the tree in the lake below. And so that for sure was when I knew what it was to balance, Mind determined, legs even, body strong and sure. And that, too, was when I learned about the cottonwood, lovely in its stature, Bark rough but friendly underfoot, Leaves flickering in the glistening wind. But then the woodsmen returned To cut off the branches and cut up the tree. Our tree was gone, And too soon The lake never heard our chattering feet, And we forgot to climb the trees. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Judith Brice, M.D. of Pittsburgh, PA. is a first-time contributor to the Robert Frost Award.
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Poem copyright 2005 by Judith Brice |
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