Trauma slithers epigenetically through time with nipping-sharp teeth. It fastens to bloodlines with atomic grip.
In 1796 the cut of chain through coarse cloth
Gouges deeper-sharp with each roll of the ship
As my convict ancestors cringed down the path to Australia’s wroth
With the sting of trauma graft-bolted to hip
In 1925 there was Mother mine
A child of the fostered abuse
Her capacity for love blunted and brined
By those pleading afterwards for a god’s excuse
In 1944 there was Father mine
A front-line sailor of the Pacific War
Head-bombed to emotional decline
By all he did, and all he saw
In 1952 Father and Mother mine
Two hearts dogged by calamity
Failed to reach into their child’s heart-time
And couldn’t exhibit a touch of love or amity
In 1957 Father Mother mine
Vanished away no word or consoling
Orphanaged me into the maw of that silent crime
As the priests bore down with their sadism and their rape and the nuns perfected their cruelty of mind and punched me down under their fisted controlling
In 1986 my Son gained his Father mine
A gagged-mouth injured mute voice silenced by memories of trauma within
And my Son over time could not reach his Father mine
So in despair dumped his happy family hopes into the refuse bin
In 2017 my Granddaugher gained her Father mine
When I learn to speak I hope we meet
Until then I sit alone in the memory hiss
Of Father Mother Son Granddaughter and Self incomplete
In 1796 …
In 2205 …
Trauma slithers epigenetically through time with nipping sharp-teeth. It fastens to bloodlines with atomic grip … until arrested.
(Epigenetics is the study of how your behaviours and environment can cause changes that affect the way your genes work. I imagine that many people could write their own version of this poem.
While my poems on
THE AUSTRALIAN INDEPENDENT MEDIA NETWORK
THE FLOWERS OF EMPIRE
THE GAZA STEN-GUN STACCATO
have their own place in the sun for me the title
is a heart-writ summation blasting high decibel from the speakers of a lived and very personal reality.)
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