The Red Dirt

I landed on the red dirt, barefooted. 
Successfully, surprisingly. 
But I had never really landed anywhere.
I feel the smell on my skin when I am reminded of the red dirt.

The humidity settled on me like a bug to a buzzing light, 
But nothing seemed to settle on me for very long. 
I feel their eyes, 
Like I feel the memories so ingrained to the very being that I am. 

The darkness invades like a the pounding beat when the dish was made, 
But nothing seemed to calm the beating heart in my chest when night 
closed in. 

I feel the memories in flavors of pain, joy, gratitude, 
Questions and childlike eyes.

The red dirt has sunk into the soles of my feet, 
And it has walked the ground of everywhere I've been since then. 
Always present, marking the ground I walk and I will never forget, 

The feeling of red dirt on my feet. 

 

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