It never looks like we think it will.
I imagine flowers, of course,
or an open field, or a single plum
in the center of a bowl.
But today, forgiveness is a scrap of net,
mostly hole, with frayed ends
and matted with white paint.
It has no apparent use.
It holds nothing, it comes
with no instructions.
I had thought it would serve me.
I had thought it would make me
feel better or get me further along
than where I was. I thought
I could make it happen.
And here is forgiveness,
a featherweight shred,
something I might have overlooked
if it hadn’t been placed
in my hands.
Forgiveness: giving up all hope for a better past.
-Anne Lamott
I was thinking the narrator was offering forgiveness, until the closing stanza, and I realized they were the recipient. Indeed, on the surface it’s such a threadbare, holely (holy?) thing. Nevertheless, however, it suffices to mend the largest rent.
That is such lovely language, Ed, “mend the largest rent.” This particular case it was I suppose mutual forgiveness, me and my son offering it to each other. But it was a surprise how it happened, him taking initiative.
The imagery of the last stanza is quite visual, and physical. The featherlight shred, considering it was a net to start with, is nice. I like how you visualize forgiveness before then, though, as other more beautiful things.
One word that strikes me oddly is the word “hole” from the line
“But today, forgiveness is a scrap of net,
mostly hole…”
A net is by definition more hole than not. I might have said “… mostly torn…” but then again, it’s your net, if you’ll forgive me.