A cleansing by fire

trauma

The first mouthful turns me inside out,
my soul screams down a tunnel of memories.

The slap, the fist, the spittle in my eyes
the sound of my mothers whimpering cries.

A key in the door, the stairwells echo
panicked faces in torch-light.

The desert with impact craters like a scarred brain,
sack cloth floating in the hot seared air.

This is where I laid that memory to rest,
where I exorcised my trauma by transference,

where I pollenated a thousand miseries,
with lead and fist and bomb,

where I punched a peoples shadow
until the shadow was all gone,

and I’m pouring in the poison that blackens out my skies,
for that fucker on the stairwell, he’ll never hear me cry.

© Wolfgar 2019

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