she paced by the roadside anxious and confused,

feathers even whiter with the dullness of the day,

and i wondered why she waited.

 

but there he was upon the road, not long breathless

and still, wings outstretched.

 

and i hoped the driver had at least slowed if they

possibly could, but perhaps it was an accident entire.

 

i was surprised at how quickly and intensely

i identified with her pain, and confusion, and

anxious gait, restless.

 

if only there was something she could do, she could try,

she could produce to save the other, yet her world

had changed sudden, instant.

 

and i began to smell the heat of morning sun, hear

insects buzz and pigeons coo, the humidity

press against my skin, especially this,

 

from the day i felt the same as the father of my children

lay on kitchen floor, not by any accident external,

but sudden violence from within.

 

…it is funny how senses recall even when concrete

memory blurs…

 

and yet i took the next breath and the next, both back then

and on the road today

 

and remembered how all the breaths in-between had taught

me many things

 

how to slow, how to regulate, how not to slide into panic

overwhelming, sudden.

 

my senses still went back to that place, but neural pathways

have rewired, and even though a hot white horror lingered

for some moments in my chest,

 

my head knew that that was then and this was now and that

for myself, nothing had changed today.

 

and as i drove onward, still sympathetic for that frantic duck,

i breathed in deep and satisfied for myself, because

even though PTSD is a taskmaster brutal and visits

 

inconvenient, that does not mean it is a helpless sentence

life-long. and for myself, thanks to the passing of years,

hours spent talking to professionals, practice,

and boundless Grace,

peace and freedom have mostly come and have

remained.

 

—if you experience PTSD, please know that there is hope on the journey ahead, but ask for help anyway.

Heather Pound 2023

photo by Cathi Geisler