The little window
In the northern wall
Through which the lovely light falls
When the drapes aren’t closed

The little window
In the northern wall
Through which the lovely light falls
When the drapes aren’t closed
As water falls
In fractured cascade
See trauma’s pain
Fragmented mesh
Of memory and behavior
Slim tenuous tendrils
Strewn across twin darknesses
Of dissociation and repression
Shattered shards of self
Unanchored and adrift
Idyllic setting
Empty seats
New normals
Under development
I look back
In order to move forward
Bring the past
Into the present
Record the history
So I can release it
Carry the memory
Leave the emotional toil
Of glories and traumas
In the wake
Amber glow
Inner light
So long as I hold the one
Let the other be revealed
Now as an adult
I am dominated by the fear
I learned as a child
Now I watch my waitress
And I wonder if she is also processing
The traumas of a dimly remembered past
While serving another table’s drink orders
I wonder if the waitress knows
That in the every day of just going along
Her mind, and her heart, and her spirit
Process the hard work that is so upsetting
“You did not go crazy”
“You did not die”
“You lived and never let go of the light
Even when you were plunged into the darkness”
“And all you learned to cope
With the trauma so many years ago
Keeps you alive now
While you heal”
Ambivalence
Trepidation
Uncertainty
Too much?
Too dark?
Too bleak?
For a bistro?
Until a voice says
“That is me, up there
On your wall.”