Childhood Trauma
by Vicki Hayes
My first memory
Is that of me
Lying in a crib
With the gates up
In the middle of
The dining room
In the dark
Shadows of images that had
Not yielded to the darkness
Started to trouble a
2-year-old soul
Then the fear of what was
Known in the light but
Somehow quickly forgotten
In the darkness, began…
In the middle of
The dining room
Where meals were served
And people talked about
Their day and how it went
And other notable events
I found myself in the
Middle of it.
Like a meal, offered up
With no supplication
Lying in a crib
With the gates up
In the dark...
Did I mention
The darkness?
I can imagine
Questioning why I had
To be placed in the
Dining room
Of all places
And alone
I wanted answers
And so, I started
To ask the questions
But not in the form
Of a question
But in the form of
A very loud scream
Releasing tears of
Frustration mixed with
The fear of being alone
I screamed again
And again, and again, and again
(Long pause) and again
Someone came
Not the familiar figure
But one closer in stature
To mine
Shh, shh, baby it’s okay
A comforting hand reached
Through the high walls
Of the crib and
I was back to sleep
In no time
Only to be awakened again
By another figure
Still unfamiliar
Yet, it too was standing
Too close to my crib
Instead of shh, shh, shh
It sniggered…wtf
Instead of it’s okay
It rattled the sides
And I screamed again
Out into the darkness
And after some time
The figure
Disappeared into the shadows
Epilogue:
In the morning
I’m sure I took inventory
How else can I explain?
My hatred of all things
Menagerie and doily.
They were all over
The dining room
Collecting dust
And being distasteful
Awfully colored,
Mirrored images, doubled
And abnormally twisted
Masked clowns, horses,
Even frogs.
And they
In posture and gesture
Introduced the beginning
Of every nightmare I ever had
As a child
Carrying me down into
A darkness of fear
And despair
And that night
I began to carry
The burden of
The fear of darkness
With me for many years
That came after
But more important than
A fear of the dark
Was born a fear
Of speaking aloud
For fear of not being
Heard.