Haunting the kaleidoscopes in visual minds are the poltergeists of trauma.
We feel & revisit these visceral scars; recall them & relive the drama.
The only way out of its gauntlet is thru to the other side bruised & bloody.
But it abides in the wings, while we play at life; our covetous understudy.
Our wounds trip us up again & again; even more if we don’t deign to face them.
Yes indeed, our monsters command our respect if we hope to survive their mayhem.
Injuries eventually knit into scars which remind us what we’ve endured.
We tend & we treat our harm so it heals; forgetting frailty assured we are cured.
A quilt is no less than a sheet for its stitches…in fact, I’d say it is stronger.
Trauma’s a map tattooed on our hide that takes a lifetime to read…maybe longer.
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L.B.Stowe 