Floaty

We’re not doing the eyes thing

we’re doing taps on my hands instead

with a biro

more appropriate, she says

for visceral flashbacks

bilateral stimulation

all the same

she taps me to that other place

grounded in my chair

my arms on its arms

I can still see the carpet...

funny I can come here

usually the cries come to me

unbidden in bedroom gloom

but this time

I’m visiting them

I don’t really want to say hello

Are you OK to continue?

lightness, I say

fuzziness, I say

hear the other children, I say

moaning

groaning

but they fade

and I go floaty

legs disappear

waiting, I say

for

some

thing

to

know

OK to go on?

floaty

floaty

but aware

they are here

looking

intending, I don't say

arms are heavy, I say

heavier

so heavy

fingers fight

Notes taken

but can’t get free from

[wooden] arms

stay put

no exit

A little longer, if that’s alright?

alright

if I must

I must

Postscript: This poem is based upon my personal and real experience of EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing) therapy for dealing with the trauma of child abuse. It is not intended to represent others' experience of this particular therapy.

If you would like to read more of my poetry relating to trauma, you can click on the link below to my website, The Archaeology of Trauma.