I had forgotten that my mind

could create billions of new things

that my heart kept on pumping

regardless of bruises, dents, or dings.

That goosebumps rose to keep me warm

to remind me of the chill

that everything seems to just work out

regardless if I’m restless or I’m still.

That my feet carry me anywhere

and my hands grasp the world

that poetry will simply rise

when I’m willing to dance and twirl.

I had forgotten about the Moon

and her wisdom as she shone

the giggling of the creek out back

behind my childhood home.

About the never-ending sky

and the clouds that dressed her daily

the hands we clasped at dinnertime:

the formation of our family.

I had forgotten about the hula hoops

and the creaky trampoline

about the pogo sticks and zip line, too –

and dinner bell’s sharp ring.

The little girl inside of me

has learned so much in life

and yet easily forgotten

simple lessons more than twice.

But I suppose that’s the beauty

of writing poetry:

I get to re-remember how

to let life emerge through me.


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