Poetry by Laura Stamps

                barbara w CC



Grief

They say trauma changes you, 
and she knew that, but she 
couldn’t accept it because 
she loved who she used to be, 
and she didn’t want to let go 
of that woman forever, that 
woman with a heart for everyone, 
who trusted everyone, and 
believed in the best in everyone, 
and she didn’t like how trauma 
had transformed her, and, no, 
she didn’t like it at all, this 
woman she had become 
with so many new boundaries, 
emotional walls hard as stone, 
thick enough to reach out 
and touch them, boundaries 
that made her feel alone, 
even among friends, and, no, 
she didn’t like it at all, 
and that’s why she fought it 
and kept fighting it, until one 
morning she woke up and 
smiled, the sackcloth of her 
grief, that ragged garment 
she’d worn for two years 
had disappeared overnight, 
and suddenly she realized 
she liked this new person 
she had become, this woman 
with firm boundaries, 
boundaries she had always 
needed, this woman whose 
personality had been shaped 
by the knife of trauma, 
because that’s what trauma 
does when it slices the soul 
until it bleeds in order to make 
it stronger, much stronger 
than the woman she used 
to be.  And in the end,
that’s a very good thing. 

Laura Stamps is the author of several poetry chapbooks and books, including THE YEAR OF THE CAT, IN THE GARDEN, and CAT DAZE.  Her work has appeared in The Penwood Review, Boston Poetry Magazine, American Writing, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, and others.  She is the recipient of seven Pushcart Prize nominations.  Currently, Laura is working on a new chapbook of poems about depression, PTSD, trauma, and healing. You can find her on Twitter at @LauraStamps16.  

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