Vigilance (PTSD)

I am the very soul of perhaps
There must always be an out
Ever wary of ambush, some trap
Escape must never be in doubt

These are things one learns in war
and around violent kitchen tables
Head on a swivel, eye on the door
where peace is naught but fable

A child is born – a warrior made
Innocence does not suit the field
A determined heart and well-honed blade
for those who would harm to feel

Granddaughter

She is beautiful
and so very sad
Filled with insight
that I never had
in my preteen years
She followed
me upstairs
to show me her room
and once there
shared with me
so many doubts
so many fears
so much of her life
that was so unclear
in her mind
and in her sweet
brown eyes I
could see the pain
This young girl
grappling with
growing up
Hoping for answers
that I didn’t have
but I gave her
what I had
All of my attention
All of my love