If only all the tiny shards of glass
yellow and purple orchid swirls
What would they say
if fragments realigned
knit themselves back
like broken bones entwined in casts
and heroes walked?
What if the paralysed
could miracle embrace
pain and grief
trauma and loss
till they walked with stars?
I breathe out Vincent’s starry night
from living room wall
to outside door
then coffee table book on my floor
I wonder – would he obsess about lost socks
from cyclone’s past?
(c) June Perkins
I wrote a series of poems tackling the responses and recovery to a cyclone, but they could be relevant to any form of recovery from trauma.