Where Trauma Lives

Like a dead body anchored
In the bottom of my belly
Is where all the trauma of
My
Life
Sits.

It moves, bobbing silently
Pulsating as my digestion
Desperately attempts to
Flush
It
Down.

Shifting minutely
Stifling my inability
To lose the spare tire of
Anxiety
Around
My belly.

I can feel a new shifting
The dead lump lifting up
To my conscious surface
I cough
Outbursts
Of anger
And tears.

The measure of vulnerability
Coming up and out of me
Is the corpse breaking apart
Loosing
The anchor
Free.

©April 2019, Isabel Alvear