Sometimes blows the Pacific wind
across three hundred miles of desert,
of seaweed, whales, seals, and wave,
a heartsong of echo,
a whisper of home.
In the garden behind home
I catch the wind
to smell the echo
of salt, strange in the desert.
It carries the wave
of kelp, a distant memory.
A gull cries in memory–
I wonder, am I home?
I strain after the crash of wave–
Can sound hitch a ride on wind?
But in the desert
the sea’s roar won’t echo.
Salt on my tongue, the echo
of a childhood memory
when the island was the only desert
near my home,
stripped by wind
washed by wave.
After a heatwave
we wait for thunder’s echo.
Rain stops, followed by wind.
My skin jumps at the memory
of a beach, far from home
which, during storm, picnickers desert.
I suppose, in a way, a desert
is like a sea, where grasses wave
beside the path toward home.
The canyons ring with echo–
if this were your childhood memory
Would you then face east for wind?
Turn east, turn west, toward yesterday’s wind.
It hauls the crates of memory.
A scent, a sound, a taste, a touch–it carries your childhood’s echo.
Daily Prompt: “Write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses,” from the Na/GloPoWriMo site.