at the crossroads

and the call
beckons, towards

while the alarm
pulses, away away


I'm starting to emerge from the processing I've been doing over the past two months.

(Shit. Has it really been two months? Yes, it has. A little over. Wow.)

Shit happens, life goes on. That's the way trauma works. Grief, too. It feels absolutely shocking, but that's what it is. Life doesn't stop happening, even after the worst thing happens.

You get a gun shoved in your face, you have to deal with it. And unless you tell other people, they would never know. It's a very odd thing. You'd think trauma and grief would be written on our bodies, but it isn't, unless we wear a shirt or get some kind of commemorative tattoo.

(I'm actually considering a tattoo. As a way to remind myself: never again.)

The trauma of early July wasn't as linear as a gun pointed at my face, it was much more complex and ephiphanial (I still love making words up). And I am absolutely still processing it, because even thinking about the panic attacks of that first week can cause my heart to race, right now.

(Which is why I keep telling the story to myself, and journaling. Reinvoking the panic until the panic is processed, knowing I am safe. This was one of the ways I healed after the robbery.)

Still, I can tell, I am starting to emerge, in my own way.

Writing and hiking and being safe.

And poeming.

This isn't the first poem I've written since July, but it's the first poem that feels - not disconnected from the trauma that I experienced, but fairly unrelated.

And it's only a snippet, really, but it's a snippet about cataclysmic climate change more than about my personal life.

(Though one could read in it the personal - trust the alarm of the gut, the call of healing. Mmmmm. There's the beauty of snippets of poems to me, they're general enough to be read in many ways.)

And that's one of the ways in which I am starting to emerge.

Poetry that isn't in response to something traumatic.

Photos that are normal, everyday things. (Sunsets and TV on the wall and hiking, oh my!)

I keep processing. I keep using my tools. And eventually I will get through this strange chapter in my life. Stronger. Wiser. And with much clearer and stronger boundaries than before.

Yes. Please. Thank you.