top of page

Trauma Work

Trauma Work

It’s a long one

the road back to ease

back to not walking past the mirror

with closed eyes

and not flinching

in the eyes

of another.

It’s a long slow walk

a crawl really

coming home

along the gnarled roads

and labyrinths of mind

the booby traps I lay for


unworthiness recited as prayer

and the horrible way

I don’t even realize I’m doing it.

The hard part is not

speeding up

when I catch a glimpse

of that glowing golden front door

forgetting that it’s speed

that got me lost in the first place.

The hard part

is letting myself be found

then lost

then found

and lost again

inching through darkness

on my knees


this is





It’s a strange thing

watching my body age

and what I thought the advent

of gray hair would mean

while I time travel back

through the bad neighborhoods

of my heart

to find the lost children

and catch their tears.

Humility, humus;

dirt deep knowing

of my own fleeting life

my end

and the impossibility

of finding any other path

than the one I’m on,



the wounds I thought were me


to their waiting


Trust, I’m told

as if there’s another choice

but to say


yes I will claim this life

lostness and all

hauntings and all

and build a patience so true

a real smile will grow

will have to have to grow

from the debris.

16 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page