If I somehow forget who I am
in some sort of tragic remembering accident,
sit me outside on a cool October morning
to remember me back.
Let the wet of the browned and yellowed leaves
fall at my feet
and re-mother me into time once more.
Place offerings of honey water
and heart-shaped wild potato vine
all along the length of my body.
Let the baby brown finch parade
prance along my arms and mess my hair.
If I’ve forgotten who I am in some sort of
tragic remembering accident,
hum that old hymn ‘I’ll Fly Away’ gently into my ear. Tap your toe along the top of mine.
Let the vibration carry me
far across the shadows of experience
and back into the collective womb from which we’re all carried.
Under the ocean floor, my granular sand body
will be washed once more
alongside the generational sands of time.
Please don’t worry if I somehow forget who I am
in some sort of tragic remembering accident.
Gather sticks of oak and maple, fallen walnuts,
and dried leaves to build a small fire at my side.
Lay me down easy alongside its deep warmth
and trust it will burn me back into my ancient form.
Let the fire catch hold of my hair
and consume the flesh from my bones.
Knowing that a seed cannot be burned away from existence,
only nurtured back into the origin from whence it was born.