When memories of traumatic blows sweep in
like frigid breath of winters past,
Joys of summer days come lately fade
before the fearful blast of knowing,
Seeing, eyes unmasked, brain immersed
in sordid flow, unwilled, I cannot make them
go, these memories that have come to stay
and take my life and breath away.
Be still my soul—I’ll sit awhile and rest
beneath this old oak tree.
Deep breaths, take one, and two, and three.
Now see, I’ve closed and locked the door.
Give me your hand, just speak my name
Tell me your love will be the same when, tempest
past, I dare reclaim that part of me that came unasked
upon the storm and stripped my leaves. My branches
bared what do you see? Though tossed and torn I am
in truth, both who I was and who I am and who I’m
meant to be.