she paced by the roadside anxious and confused,
feathers even whiter with the dullness of the day,
and i wondered why she waited.
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but there he was upon the road, not long breathless
and still, wings outstretched.
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and i hoped the driver had at least slowed if they
possibly could, but perhaps it was an accident entire.
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i was surprised at how quickly and intensely
i identified with her pain, and confusion, and
anxious gait, restless.
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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.
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and i began to smell the heat of morning sun, hear
insects buzz and pigeons coo, the humidity
press against my skin, especially this,
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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.
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…it is funny how senses recall even when concrete
memory blurs…
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and yet i took the next breath and the next, both back then
and on the road today
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and remembered how all the breaths in-between had taught
me many things
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how to slow, how to regulate, how not to slide into panic
overwhelming, sudden.
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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,
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my head knew that that was then and this was now and that
for myself, nothing had changed today.
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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
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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.
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—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