Trauma Doesn’t Dress in Neon

Trauma doesn’t dress in neon.
It doesn’t light up bright as a sunrise
and stand screeching with a megaphone in the street.
Trauma asks for a reservation,
parks at the cradle base of your skull,
and traces soft fingertips across the love lines on your palm.
Trauma is the sound of a drill skidding as a screw strips.
It is a soapy aftertaste in your mouth.
It is the silver halo of light from a TV as your child clings to your neck in their sleep.
It hovers,
bumble bee drone
in your ear.
Trauma is a lace skirt getting caught on every cabinet knob in the house
and dragging you to a halt.

© Laura A. Lord, 2020


Thank you MindLoveMisery for your prompt.

15 thoughts on “Trauma Doesn’t Dress in Neon

  1. Wow. Your words are beautiful and your painfully beautiful images never fail to strike me. I feel like you’re in my head and I think that’s what good writing is, right? I’m new here, but I look forward to reading much more!!

    Like

  2. You write so well!! As if you have been in close proximity of the people who have gone through all your poems’ feeling and experience. This I would say is experience, even if not yours, but not only imagination. They can’t be. They are so perfect.

    Like

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