Month: March 2026

Of Trauma Born

Goodbyes tarnish
faith, like ashes
scattered

My heart grows dismissal,
craves a balm of connection
seeks quiet harbour

Remind me what it feels like to be safe
breath nurturing life,
love a rhythmic flow

In meditation
I reach for peace
imagine salvation

But this wayward chaos
unrestrained
cements me in doubt

Tainted intentions
I lift up to the Universe
a tempest without hope

My soul incubates malice
a child’s game when wounded
not encouraged by silver linings

Listening for healing threads
prolonging the letting go
sanctity remains untouchable

(Photo my own)

Relevance of Story

Stories have power. Parents, teachers, public speakers, and therapists understand that the secret to engaging an audience or connecting with others is through illustration: storytelling.

I see it in the eyes of the my grandchildren, who love to hear tales of family history.

I’ve seen in the eyes of students, when recognition and understanding light up.

I’ve seen in in the eyes of audiences, who tear up or laugh at the telling of a relevant anecdote.

I’ve seen it in the eyes of the wounded trying to make sense of their past: the craving for a story that offers validation.

Imagine a world where we are absent from stories. This is a reality for many, whose race, ethnicity, or beliefs excludes them from discourse.

Chimamanda Adichie says it best in her Ted Talk: The Danger of a Single Story.

Is This War?

“War is hell.  You can’t photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear.”
– unknown

The bomb has dropped
control slips from our grasp

We pray for a parachute
for someone to pull the cord

numbers escalate,
lives plummet

We offer encouragement
isolated voices faltering

moment of impact imminent
the implosion inevitable

impact reverberates
responsibility moot.

(  Image my own.)

Imagine

If we could lift understanding
to indigenous teachings
expand our love
to earth, sky, and sea
Make personal gain taboo
and Ancients a weigh point

If we could witness the mountains
slow floating across the sky
and touch the dolphin’s soul
anxiously swimming
where tuna are netted

Would we cower at our insignificance
or move forward, learning to accept
that all of life is deeply woven
into the fabric of our collective hopes.

(Image my own)

Dear Child

I know a little girl,
whose hair in ringlets
falls, unkempt from lack
of brushing; who stands
when she should be sitting;
who laughs with defiance when
challenged, her dark eyes gleaming
with mischief; who holds her chin up
high and stamps her feet, arms folded
in protest when she does not get her way.

I see that little girl,
have watched her play,
with a wild imagination,
and a fearless temperament;
have watched her climb a tree,
scrap with any bully, and dare to
venture on her own; have witnessed
her alone times, hidden and obscured,
watched as she cried unheeded, buried
herself in books, drawing, and future dreams.

I feel that little girl,
who wears such a brave
exterior to mask her inner
fears; who bears a burden of
responsibility to carry the weight
of those around her;  who believes
she has the power to make her mother
cry, to cause her father’s violence, to save
her sisters from pain; who feels the punishment
of her situation and ascribes it to unworthiness.

I love that little girl,
whose mind is always
churning, who prays to a
god she’s never seen, and
makes wishes on rainbows;
who longs to make a difference,
and refuses to believe that suffering
is all there is; who devotes herself to
being a better person, and hopes one day
that she’ll finally feel at peace in the world.

I hold that little girl,
warm within my heart,
listen to her fears, hear
her heart’s longing;  praise
her courageous efforts, appease
her doubts, offer condolences for
losses, encouragement for change,
forgive her of her burdens; allay her
misperceptions, reassure her worth,
promise to never let her go: she is me.