Glass Butterfly



I am standing on
Both sides of the
River now
Between the earth
And sky.
The dust has come
For dinner.
Night falls into
My arms and
Asks me to
Love her.
My radio is dead
And I can’t hear
You anymore.
My heart is a
Team of horses
Whipped to pull
The plow.
I clutch each
Memory of affection,
My souvenirs of love.
It’s all that I
Can carry in the dark.
Lost in carnivals of pain
I hang Christmas
Lights on tombstones.
Death is my last holiday.

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I’m glad to see this, tho sorry for the suffering. I listen. I have been married to 2 vets, both with PTSD and prone to be back in-country at any nudge. Another vet who helped me buy a home in WV also had PTSD. Too late we found out there was a pear tree just above his room, and every year for about a month the aluminum roof on his room would be peppered with align pears. Quite often I found him sleeping on the couch away from the shrapnel sounds of the pears. May God Bless you.


I’m alone most of the time. It’s unbearable trying to be social even with my closest friends. My head is filled with voices while a carnival of memories plays on an endless feedback loop. A howling terror grows like a dust devil in my chest twisting bigger and bigger until it is a tornado tossing me into the most violent flash backs. It’s difficult to go grocery shopping or to my appointments. Strangers find me on the sidewalk paralyzed clutching trees, rocks and doorways with silent tears streaming down my face not sure where I am or when I am. I can’t talk for days. Words sting my mouth like poisonous insects and I’m crippled by the anxiety of words that are so fragile they are often misunderstood for there are no words to tell this horror. It’s a horror no one wants to see. The denial is everywhere and…

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