Where Is I?

K tchen l ght fl ckers.
Crouched n the hallway.
L sten ng for the h nge.
A vo ce measur_ng the a r.

Mom says keep qu et.
L ke an mals, plates tremble.
A name becomes warn_ng.
Shr nk nto corners.

N ght nvents rules.
_f _ breathe wrong.
Thunder.

_f _ move.
A storm.

My p_llow keeps secrets.
Morn_ng pretends noth ng.
School asks for a draw_ng.
_ color a house under clouds,
w thout w_ndows.

Years pass.
Body grows.
Loud rooms spark old storms.
A dropped cup.
Foreshadow.
_ keep pre-storm st_ll.

Home _s somewhere else now.
Dusk can open that door st_ll.
_ hear old halls echo.

At last, I remember the hallway.
Through shadowed corners,
I recall the weather.
Even small, I was present.
Amid the chaos, I was there.

Now. I stand.
Hands on the doorway.
I say my name softly.
Breath steady.
I am here.

Finally.

Recovery from childhood trauma is not an ending.
Recognizing ourselves among the pieces is a start.