A Little PTSD
The clouds seemed real at first, like
Mari hitting Connie on the run. Connie
going the way a flower starts, green.
The bloom swelled white then darkened.
Turn and fight back: It’s only autism –
it explodes into every color, much
like cotton candy, full and devastating.
She’s sweet when she’s not hitting Connie.
The insect loves the flower. You can pull
up a chair and watch the blue sinking into itself.
Just children being children, a little PTSD.
We live in the garden with miracles every minute.
Autism is a layer of life on top of life. Funny,
really, like the Three Stooges running home.