Reconciliation...

I step outside my original home
And find myself facing a wall of fire
Smoke, gunshots-
-Explosions.
I fear to know who, besides me,
Sees me. I'll never know until
The bullet hits me.
Some bullets zip past and clunk
On our metal trucks
And the constant erratic rattling
Of the cause of the clunks itself.
Even in silence,
My ears ring. Always ready for surprise-
Whenever that might erupt.

Now I deafen my ears to the ringing,
Blind myself from what I was facing,
Feel the breeze to which I was borne,
And open my senses to see my original home.
Still a few rings; startled by clanks,
Reconciling myself: this squirrel is not a tank.
I look up to the ceiling of my porch,
Still the same, yet my memory still scorched.
It begins to get better; the instabilities fade,
Hearing the wind chimes and no longer afraid.