‘Train Station Tear Tracks – On Trauma’

by Aaron Cawood

Lights up. The bench
at the train station;
we sit. Only, now,
in Act Two, I smile,
In spite of the crowd –
I feed the first line.

And because you are there,
I smile throughout the Act.
As, because you are there,
sirens pass in quiet.
And, because you are there,
memory melts like snow.
And, because you are there,
I just can’t explain it,
but I don’t have headaches
and people with backpacks
aren’t hiding bombs anymore.
In fact, they’re likely packed
with plants and butterflies
as my stomach, your eyes.

Trauma – noun; a deep distress
or a disturbing event.
A ringing bell in your head
splitting eardrums without cause
at a meaningless pin drop.
A scar; a burn; a tattoo.
A sealed, poison memory
unbending under all force.

But then, inexplicably, you.
And you tell me that you’re scared too.
Maybe it’s of different things, true.

But it’s enough.

Thank you for coping with
my train station tear tracks.
I’m glad to have helped with yours.
Please, reach out soon.
I want to travel by train again.

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford. Written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff, new issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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