The nature of trauma is that it is unconscious; something frightened or disturbed us enough so that we did not want to experience it. We shut down, we froze, we acted out, we ran. We did not make sense of the experience and file it away, we threw it out of consciousness.~Tian Dayton
I reject the swamp of my birthplace, call
and finagle love by the sea. Far from
my roots, play the gargoyle–mysterious
pagan goddess adorning cathedrals—
spiked-head cautionary tale. I’m trying
to make these words sensible. My lineage
settles for mosquito-infested land
losing sight of possibility, hard
survival hunkers down even though just
a few miles up the road is paradise.
I reject my habitude. Centuries
of unprocessed trauma rise. The shoreline
fraught, I pause in fear anticipating
the shock of change, cold slap of moving sea
and I must leap, reject the quandary.
Relentless tide brings what lies beneath the
surface, the deep places pain claims surge
like a riptide, insisting I dive deep
release the illusions to dry crumbling
on sand. Shivering, wet, now I accept.
Soundcloud recording here.