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.