by Marie Soffy Saint Fort
Dancing over the edge of a cliff,
cliff of a deep, deep ocean
on a busy summer day,
where surfboards and waves crashing.
Peacefully crashing ashore
into beautiful lullabies in our eardrums.
That’s what my trauma sounds like.
Sweet howling of the branches
as they move their hips side by side;
while their overcrowded leaves
bumping into each other left and right.
As nobody hears their “ouch,”
under there, we lay on our hammock;
enjoying the fresh air as they whistle in distress.
My trauma sometimes sounds like fireworks.
Exploding in colors, so everyone too busy enjoying the show.
Pointing out beauty from my scars,
bursting into laughter while I am raging in pain.
Some nights, my trauma is the life of the party.
Sounds so happy, to everyone she is vibing
while she is suffocating, exhaling her last breath.
On ordinary days, my trauma sounds like poetry.
Words and rhymes on paper or spit out on a mic,
to which the audience snaps and claps
when the performance over, barely wonder
if she is alright.
Category: Featured, Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU Student