What is Seen, is Felt

Poetry

Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

You can’t fake the way you see the world. You have the eyes of an artist,
the eyes of a mechanic, the eyes of a mother. Describe the first tree limb
your hands ever touched, that cold scaly bark, dirty flecks of grit and tree
sticking to pink flesh. Do you recall the sounds, the wind hissing through
leaves and birds’ wings, the whispers of your hair brushing the tops of
your ears, dogs barking, parents saying stay…