Robert PietrzakWest Haven, Connecticut Seventy-six years have weathered this frame, yet nineteen still smolders—unyielding flame. In jungles of memory where nightmares reside, vines of the past knot heaven to hell’s side.  The therapy chair groans beneath my weight, Dr. Martinez speaks—calm, measured, straight. “Trauma,” “processing”—echoes rebound, off bunker-thick walls where silence is sound.  The world keeps a rhythm I’ve long cast…