Echo(ed)

The conference speaker explained, "We are in our own echo chambers.  That's why I believed certain things had a chance."

Echo.  There was something to the idea.

I searched "Echo" in the library catalog.  

I skimmed.  

Echo.

One book asked, "Are You an Echo?"

Misuzo Kaneko wrote for children.  She wrote about empathy.

The lyrics for the poem* wondered,

If I say, “Let's play?” 

you say, “Let's play!”

If I say, “Stupid!” 

you say, “Stupid!”

If I say, “I don't want to play anymore,”

you say, “I don't want to play anymore.”

And then, after a while,

becoming lonely

I say, “Sorry.” 

You say, “Sorry.”

Are you just an echo?

No, you are everyone.

I Googled "Echo Poem".

I skimmed.

Echo.

Someone asked, "What is an echo verse poem?"

Echo verse poems were defined by one rule.  Repeat the end syllable.

I wondered, "Can I be an echo poet?"

Bend close to the touch of kiss or weapon 

Upon

Your cheek offered or turned.

Learned,

Love and hate

bait

The same switch.

Which

Mask was your response?

Once

Upon some one's time,

I'm

Listening, not lessening,

Confessing

Finally that I don't know.

No?

Why I choose to ignore what you do 

true to you.

I scramble in my own head

led finally to an example of my own.

Cucumber ends cut off for protection.

Deflection.

Rub the milk round and round because

'Cause?

I might be the cause of whatever makes bitterness 

less.

It was only an exercise, a check in with myself about the sounds I keep closest to me. In the end, I prefer the question, "Are You an Echo?" to creating an echo (verse poem). The repeated words meant limits not safety. They didn't comfort. They constricted what could come next.

*Are You An Echo? The Lost Poetry of Misuzu Kaneko by David Jacobson, Sally Ito & Michiko Tsuboi