the lizard

dry grass prickles     the balls of my feet

as I tread from house to hammock      hungry

     for silence and solitude               on passing

the woodshed a rustle alerts     my sensors

too loud for a bird

     too soft for a cat     a scaly tail

slithers into the dark     I halt        then a head

and two tiny webbed feet          permission

     to breathe

we are alike         this lizard and I

our skins     crave the sun     we run from

a crowd              when cornered

we know better     than most

how to freeze         and here      with a full belly

and safe hiding place     what else must we do

     but take the alms of the day?

On page 83 of his magnificent book on trauma, The Body Keeps the Score, Dr Bessel van der Kolk takes the reader to a pet shop: ‘Kittens, puppies, mice and gerbils constantly play around, and when they’re tired they huddle together, skin to skin, in a pile. In contrast, the snakes and lizards lie motionless in the corners of their cages, unresponsive to their environment.’ Van der Kolk explains that when a mammal perceives a threat in their environment, their first response is to signal for help. In the absence of a response from others, the limbic brain then kicks in triggering the fight or flight response. Reptiles lack both these autonomous defence mechanisms. Their only option in the face of danger is to immobilise, to freeze.

For many traumatised people, when faced with a threat, both the prefrontal cortex and the limbic system shut down, leaving the reptilian part of the brain, the brainstem, to take over. Acceptance is a crucial step towards recovery. This poem explores part of my own journey of acceptance and how sometimes we can find understanding where we least expect it.

This poem was first published in The Burrow.