I am learning to honor the inklings,
discern the distant echo of a bell ringing,
feel into this ghostly ancestral triggering.
There are others with me
who share the discomfort of this attentive
focus on our wounds:
the bitter tears unshed,
the trauma calcified inside walls
we constructed so long ago
that we forgot them.
As we learn to trust
our listening hearts
the tiniest signs:
like the flutter of a bird’s wings on the periphery,
a shadow cast by its quick journey,
observed with doubt until
with one firm hammer strike
bringing to the light
what was hidden behind closed doors.