All Souls Night on The Isle of the Ancestors

Tonight the veil between the worlds is said to be thinner than any other night of the year. On the Isle of Ancestors tonight I was met by my Grandmother and Great-grandmother, who helped me rewrite a poem. I visited with my Grandfather and considered the difference between memories we form ourselves and memories that we learn from others. As I wandered across the Isle, I came to a rippling stream where I was not at all surprised to find my father fishing.

Not all ‘ancestors’ on this Isle have passed beyond the veil. Just upstream from my father, I found my mother casting her line across the riffle in the fading twilight. “What are you doing here?!” I asked, surprised.
She smiled and answered, “fishing.”

The following poem was written for my mother, Zetta Benson Peterson. On her next birthday she will be ninety. Besides being a first class fisherwomen, my mother was a professional dancer and a dance teacher, as I was myself. When she was carrying me, she couldn’t keep down anything but water-cress and lemon-lime soda. She has always said that I “entered dancing.”

I Learned

They would ask me . . .
How long have you been dancing?
When did you begin to learn?
Were you four?
Five?
Who did you learn from?
What lessons did you take?

I danced
I said . . .
Before I drew my first breath
For my dancing soul learned joy
Before my mortal body was complete
I danced
I said . . .
From the beginning
I learned
I said . . .
From the heart that beat around me then
A halcyon heart full of sunshine and peace
In the safety of the dark and warm
I first felt the promise of a world of love
And I danced . . .
For joy

~ Edwina Peterson Cross ~