PTSD
When rainstorms clear
+ little fronds of feathered ferns unfurl,
When monsters die
+ tiny trusting toddler hands uncurl,
When dawn awakes
+ courage calms to chaos in my soul:
Arriving late,
The terrifying doubt that makes me whole.
In crisis, calm
In safety sensing self-inflicted stitches.
In chaos, kind
In wholeness still withholding holy bridges.
In bedlam, spent
In bed at home I feel the full-long hours.
In panic, cool
In silence sorrow steals what should be ours.
Arriving home,
I pick the pockmarked pennies in my palm.
Arriving rich,
I try to trade my trauma for a balm.
Arriving sad,
I wonder, would the wood wren startled sing?
Arriving cold,
To what I glibly promised would be spring.
2017
+ little fronds of feathered ferns unfurl,
When monsters die
+ tiny trusting toddler hands uncurl,
When dawn awakes
+ courage calms to chaos in my soul:
Arriving late,
The terrifying doubt that makes me whole.
In crisis, calm
In safety sensing self-inflicted stitches.
In chaos, kind
In wholeness still withholding holy bridges.
In bedlam, spent
In bed at home I feel the full-long hours.
In panic, cool
In silence sorrow steals what should be ours.
Arriving home,
I pick the pockmarked pennies in my palm.
Arriving rich,
I try to trade my trauma for a balm.
Arriving sad,
I wonder, would the wood wren startled sing?
Arriving cold,
To what I glibly promised would be spring.
2017