I want to remember the fallen palm
With whitening fluid of wine
Dripping from its hardened belly
In this forest of life.
I want to remember it from the road
With mud on my feet,
And thorn-scraped flesh
From the branches by the water.
I want to remember them well
The sight of the green-eyed forest
The jubilant voices of the frogs
And the pleading crises of the owls.
I want to walk among the palms
With their razor-edged leaves
Shadowing the yam and cassava shrubs
Under which the crab builds its castle
And the cocoa pods drooping like mother’s
Breasts feeding a hungry child.
I want to remember them all
Before they die and turn to mud
When I have gone.