A CRITIQUE OF CIRCUMFERENCES

Like many survivors, there are times when I feel lost and utterly broken. During those times, my life seems small and my options limited. And so I try to remember that infinitely more may be possible than I often allow myself to imagine.

Like the whole world in a worldwide whirlwind
the center of my life is circled by a never ending dance
of lost and found blind and sighted lost and found
and I fearful as a child abandoned on a playground
dare to find a way out feeling imprisoned ~ but maybe not.

What if a larger presence than this wee world actually exists
within me no matter what I experience and I unknowingly
am out of the circle at home and free to wander mystery
unencumbered by circumferences?

In this new place where perhaps I have always been
I shall roam as a deer in high places neither lost nor found
and like a tulip bulb in the dark deep damp earth of winter
be free from fear knowing the springs and summers
that bring my ruby red color to grace the land will follow.
I may drink from the French antique porcelain cup with
its hand painted blue bird unconcerned that it could break
or walk alone under a starless sky in the cold of winter. without even once looking back.

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MOTHER MOON

I composed this poem while I was in Granville, NY recovering from COVID-19. It’s written in Iambic Pentameter. While in the country, I was keenly aware of nature and why being under the moon and stars can be so healing. Anne Frank said: “The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God.”

The time before the setting sun  when early evening moon appears  brings magic to the withered land  and comfort to our earthly fears.  While we alone and restless seek  some soothing balm for painful loss,   our mother moon who mourns the dross   with tender light dries unwept tears.

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LUCK OF THE DRAW

For awhile now, I have found myself wishing to view the abuse I suffered as just one aspect of my life (albeit a very important aspect), rather than the major driving force it has been for many years. This change speaks directly to how much healing I have experienced. So as you read my recent poems, I beg you not to see them as some Pollyanna interpretations of the horror that accompanies sexual trauma. Rather, may they act as beacons of what is possible when we tenaciously and courageously travel the path to recovery.

Within that context, I am sometimes astounded by the realization of how lucky I am. So many others on this planet struggle fiercely without hope. By embracing my blessings and gifts, I am fortified in the ongoing task of healing my life.

LUCK OF THE DRAW

I asked it out loud.
Audible on the subway platform
amidst a sizable crowd
I asked it out loud ~
“How did I get to be so lucky?”
Like a sneeze it came
and I could not refrain
from voicing my wondering
how with all the loss and pain
I had been healed, cleansed of stain
while others, one in particular that day,
wildly struggle to somehow maintain
whatever shreds of personhood may
have salvaged their plight.
Yet I like a bird in flight
have flown higher and higher
even with my broken wing;
and she, or so it seems,
unredeemed
is stuck in city mire
no wings.
Who is she, this lost lost lady
carting bags of used up dignity?
Did I imagine it or did I see
her look wistfully at me
all dressed up in finery?
Is it possible she silenced her demons
just long enough
to witness my vain entreaty?
If so, did she agree
and was her gibberish,
inaudible on a subway platform,
actually an anguished plea ~
“How did she get to be so lucky?”

In the landfill town of Cateura, Paraguay, there is garbage everywhere and in fact that is the main source of income for its residents: recycling trash. Until recently, this poverty stricken community was unknown to the world. However, in 2006 something amazing happened. A children’s orchestra, with instruments made exclusively out of trash, was formed.

In time, the choir has become an example of triumph over adversity, performing all over the world, resulting in scholarships, reducing addictions, and inspiring other impoverished areas to follow suit.

What in the world, you may ask, does this have to do with sexual trauma? The answer is simple: countless survivors of sexual abuse and assault will tell you (if asked) that the crimes committed against them left them feeling like garbage. Survivors often and sometimes for long periods of time feel profound shame, suffering from a sense of being dirty and used up.

So the challenge then is how to help a human being who was robbed of worth believe in the inherent possibilities of transformation. If actual trash can be recycled to make beautiful music, surely the soul can find its true home in the knowledge of its essential purity. We must not give up. YOU CAN HELP.

You Can Help Survivors

You Can Help Survivors

Poems

You Can Help Survivors

POETRY & PONDERINGS

A CRITIQUE OF CIRCUMFERENCES

MOTHER MOON

When I spoke at The New School in NYC, my presentation was Sexual Trauma: The Challenges, Ramifications, and Possibilities for Artistic Transformation.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J25PqTyvxCM

LUCK OF THE DRAW

Trash to Triumph

You Can Help Survivors