Isabelle Shepherd: Before I Relive the Traumas of My Past

Photo: Joanna C. Valente

Before I Relive the Traumas of My Past, I Must First Create a Safe Space Where I Can Escape, or So Says My Therapist

There is a field.

The field is full of weeds, some small jaw bones and lost

teeth, spent shells.

I have found carcasses in the field.

I have heard the sounds of the field,

and the sounds have done nothing but sound.

To the right, if I were to cross the stream—

as I have before—

there is a graveyard.

I am not to read the headstones.

I am to name my safe space,

repeat the field with wind, the field with wind—

this will help to install the field,

and then I can go when instructed.

Eventually, I will only have to think the words

to go to the field.

I am not to read the names

on the graves.

And if I did, the stones inscribed:

the field with wind, the field with wind.

I do not know the names

of the weeds, and if I do not know

the words for the weeds, then how

can the words keep me safe?

The dead are buried in the field with wind.

The bones lay barren in the field with wind.

I have wandered too far.

The forest has an opening,

and the wind opens its mouth—

the field is muted purple, hushed

gold, but there is no entering the field.

---

Isabelle Shepherd is a poet from West Virginia. She now lives in Wilmington, NC, where she received her MFA from UNCW. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in DIAGRAM, The Journal, Ninth Letter, Redivider, Sixth Finch, and elsewhere. More of her work and upcoming reading dates can be found on www.isabelleshepherd.com.