by Maya Jane Sorini
Remind your shaking voice that
scrapes heal faster than bruises
heal faster than bones
heal faster than the feeling that
the screech of metal will finish your sentences, and the
and the sensation of sudden acceleration towards and the feeling
the feeling of the feeling of blood warm down your face as you
out of the car onto the ground
and apologize for bleeding into it.
Wake up and take whatever you can get your hands on and
touch your— the face that is yours only because it was grandfathered in
touch your nose that was numb after— when you were on the ground seeping when—
my words won’t come out right—
touch the places on you that cannot ever come home.
Name a part of you that doesn’t hurt.
Name it God.
Maya J. Sorini is a current Narrative Medicine Master’s student at Columbia University. She was raised in Maryland and went to college at Washington U. in St. Louis, where she also spent three years doing clinical trauma surgery research. Her understanding of trauma has been informed by her personal and professional experiences in equal parts, leading her to a passion for trauma informed care. Poetry allows her to cope with the stress of working in trauma and provides her a creative outlet for healing.