REMEMBER

           

REMEMBER

Remember that eve of Christmas Eve that the doctors and nurses prayed that you would live.



Remember the divorce that tore your family apart, just to give you two new ones.



Remember the sounds of a beat of djembe that you had come accustom to.



Remember how you thought that nothing could hurt as much as losing your goldfish, and then being proved wrong.



Remember the days when racism was an old wives tale.

The first time you heard it you didn't even know what to call it.



Remember how you thought that your asthma wasn't that bad. That it was just a mild case.



Remember how hard it was to breath that day, and how you thought you never would again.



Remember the little wisps of grass in the front yard in Maryland.

You'd pick each one as the wind helped them tell their story.



Remember the funeral procession you were confused by.

Your grandfather was under six feet of dirt, but his presence was still felt so strongly.



Remember the day you hid in the bathroom to cry, not even remembering what started it but just knowing this cry was well deserved.



Remember the place where you began and look ahead to the place you'll end.