Many people ask

about their trauma.

They ask what to do.

They ask how to breathe.

They ask, "How long until the trauma heals?"

I feel my heart drop

as the lack of answer rings

in my mouth,

like a bell

without a clapper.

I piece together words slowly,

"Trauma lives in the cells,

hidden in the bones and sinews of the body

and spirit.

It's like a tiger chained to the vagus nerve

who is hungry and frightened. And sometimes

when all hope is gone,

the tiger pretends to be dead

to keep itself safe."

Seeing their crestfallen face,

I gather more words.

"And," I say, "light lives inside too,

eager for more expansion,

hunting for more space

until one day,

you will find yourself

glowing gently

as you face

what used to threaten you."