In Honor of National Poetry Month

I Call This Trauma

Free Verse

Photo by Yexing Li on Unsplash

The trauma unfolds in
between the folds of
the tapestry
tattooed in my living room
of silence

I howl, but nothing comes out
until a new square
weaves itself onto there
as the old squares start
to unravel
into a loose spool of thread
choking me asleep

I somehow become emboldened
in golden and begin to look —
to actually study
how the threads morph

into knots and bows
and loops and holes
and knots and bows
and loops and holes
and knots and bows
and loops and holes…
— and forget me nots

Sometimes you make
a patchwork that you work
on tirelessly and needlessly
until the trauma unfolds
in between the folds
of the tapestry