I wish I could, like my mother before me,
Forgive the beasts who wronged me

It would make the flow of life much easier
And would, I’m sure, let the rivers of affection
Run quicker down between their banks

My mother used to think my friends
Were charmers. You should look
Them
In the eye like Marty does, she’d say

To what end she never said
To whose benefit such staring
Might accrue
Was never mentioned

But the beasts who wronged me
Without relent made it
Hard for me to pretend
There was anything charming
In most eyes mine met
Back then

So I dropped them to my shoes most times
And was called shy
It took years to figure out
There might be another way
Of doing things

Deciding , suddenly, she might
Have had something
Going in this forgiveness thing.

07/15/2009

Author's Note: Tag, M..and this one presented a challenge. I wrote four different poems with this theme and each for some odd reason was darker than the last. This one has some redemption in it, at least..:0

Posted on 07/15/2009
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