Remember

There is a woman inside me
pulling
tugging
gripping.

She whispers gently,
“Remember who you are,”
but her whisper becomes a screaming.

She pulls me to the scalding outdoors
and plants bare feet firmly
to the red ground.

She sings a song of blue skies
billowy clouds
and rustling green leaves.

She sings of thorns on mesquite
mimosa opening in the morn
cactus pads and prickly pears.

Her screaming fell on deaf ears,
but now I hear and see;
my eyes open to green, yellow, red.

I feel the hard red clay
cracked beneath tired feet
the heat of the sun pounding our earth.

I feel the pricks of dry yellowed grass
crushed under rough soles
and the sting of a fire ant.

She screams, “Remember! Remember!”
and I see the past unfold
as yesterday.

I remember the cold of the creek
rippling across tiny feet
tadpoles and minnows slip between small fingers.

I remember leeches stuck
to soft red brown sunwashed skin
and bright red life flowing to the ground.

I remember black soles travelling
across the small town
and purple stains between toes.

I remember feet dangling far above the earth
eyes gazing on hairless chicks
nested on a mulberry branch.

I remember and reach back
to what I forgot, but
life gets in the way.

©Pamela N. Brown

I remember a time when my life felt less empty and more full. It was a lifetime away. I miss nature to the point that I feel stifled and suffocated.