Disorganized Attachment
4/30, #NaPoWriMo 2021, in which Master Chief from Halo makes an appearance.
I survived the old country, but at what cost?
Ibadan had fireflies but little light pollution;
and finches I had no names for on the telegraph
wires strung across the street, choreographing traffic,
resting from flight. I have not seen Orion’s Belt
since I left, and seen finches only in the glass jars
of conservatories. Why did I nightmare being back
there, at the old job? What do I remember of binding
the infirmities of the body? What shall I do with
the hand-bowls of hope they present to me?
Touched little as a child except to be struck,
my partner cannot understand why I cannot endure
tickles. I flinch at the caress but finally understand:
I will not have control of my body usurped
again. I thus identified with the hardness of Master Chief
in Halo, who took off neither armor, nor helmet.
His skin must have chafed under. Air would have raked
its lower incisors over any exposure
with the mentholated treachery of Robb.
He, perpetual veteran, would have longed for touch
but been unable to suffer it.
Disorganized at the border of safety|danger,
I have never been able to lay down for love.
Forgive me. Don’t touch me. Don’t leave me.¶
© Tolu Oloruntoba
Note:
After childhood trauma, some individuals can develop a disorganized attachment style. Describing it, Janina Fisher says”What happens when a parent figure creates safety vs. danger? When early attachments are safe, we are comfortable in relationships (‘It’s safe to be close, and it’s safe to be by myself’). When early attachments are dangerous, it creates an internal struggle between the yearning to attach and the drive to be safe. Do I run toward? Or do I run away?” That oscillating struggle can feature “Impulses to fight or flee from the closeness (‘It isn’t safe to be connected, to depend. Watch out! Don’t trust’), and “Impulses to attach, to be close, to trust (I want to be close—I don’t want to be alone”). The Fisher quote above was transcribed from an illustration in a handout I have not found an online source for.
This poem was written after the NaPoWriMo day-3 prompt, which called for sample words from a Personal Universe Deck, a list of 100 words drawn from one’s life, characterizing past, present, and future. The words I based the poem on are Ibadan, Finch, Tickle, and Robb ointment. And yes, some people cannot stand being tickled.
Note on image:
Ceremonial Sword (Udamalore) 17th–19th century | Yoruba peoples, Owo group | On view at The Met Fifth Avenue in Gallery 352 | Image is in public domain