After - PTSD

Three old doors make a pyramid
in the firepit.

Odds and ends, loose papers,

dead branches that fell

after a big rainstorm,

it piles up - taller than me.

Mesmerizingly beautiful

flames lick the sky,

twisting and dancing,

reaching higher as if hoping

the air will taste fresher

up there. It might; after all,

the fire is so big that

we can't get much closer 

than fifteen feet before the heat

becomes too much.

So from a distance, we gaze

silently, in awe.

But a cold fist closes

over my heart when suddenly

I wonder: where is she?

I glance around, frantic,

remembering that this 

is the first time since...

I see again what I never saw:

slow-motion falling, like those videos

of trees that fall in the forest.

I hear again what I never heard:

that raw-throat screaming
with too much pain for tears.

My mind is filled with images

like an elevator

crammed full of people

jostling, shoving, uncomfortable,

until I see her

at least thirty feet away,

her back to the blaze,

unwilling to look --

too afraid.

I go to her and lift her up.

Featherweight, she clings

to me with her arms and legs

as if I am a floating log,

and she is drowning.

She trembles like a leaf, this child

who used to be so fearless,

so curious. She never used to 

hold on when she was held.

Hands are for pointing,

for reaching and grabbing,

but now she clings, and 

buries her face in my neck.