Be very still
like a cat
waiting on a mouse,
like the snow blanketing
Allow the cords of pain writhing
to stop, to yawn, to gaze at shadows dancing on a safe child’s ceiling;
allow the panicked what-ifs squeezing your mind
to hold teacups instead
and to contemplate the
steam rising into the air, in a quaint café on the corner of here and here,
now and now,
and draw finger circles on the window.
Still the thoughts
in the midst of their
their clutching, heart-stopping
march of tears; still them even as the
flags of terror are snapping
in whirlwinds of cacophony.
Be with one muscle.
Be with the bracing intestines;
Be with the heart so lost but beating the rhythm of life
Be with the tiniest muscle you can find.
Quiet the lies fountaining forth an endless sermon of doubt,
of twisted code tumbling from unholy heavens.
Open all the boxes.
Throw their contents into the humming heart of your cultivated presence;
ask the one-who-stands-with you always;
ask the tree whispers falling around you;
ask the small leaves glistening, finding you;
ask the wolf radiating the fierce heat of the center of your heart through its fur;
ask them to hold your entire experience, every moment.
Heidi Hanson is an artist and writer in Asheville, North Carolina currently working on an illustrated book chronicling her journey healing from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
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