Forgive me.
I was hurt
you did not
seem to care
about the story
of me. Ha.
The story of me.
It is not
so grand a thing.
This living, now
living is grand.
This living is
everything. But
the story? It
is just marketing.
Something I tell
myself and others
to believe
I am important.
Special. As if
it could be
any other way.
Every one of us
telling each other’s stories
every time
we open our mouths.
In the end,
which is to say now,
it does not matter
if you read
a single poem
I write. It does not
matter if you
never hear about
the silver wig
I ordered today
for the show
next week I
bought you a ticket for
so you might
be there with me.
Isn’t that funny,
after all these years,
I still long
for you to see me.
As if that act
of witness would fulfill
some mysterious
math in which
one and one
make something blissful
I dream is possible—
the way I try
sometimes (impossibly)
to be that mysterious
integer for you.
With this slight remove
of space and time,
I see it does
not matter if you
hear my story
or miss the show.
But it matters
if I can sit with you tonight
and know in my every breath
that I am enough.
That I have no lack
that you could ever fill.
I am empty for now
of once upon a times,
including the story that says
I need your forgiveness.
Here are two chairs.
They are side by side.
My darling. Here we are.
Posts Tagged ‘forgiveness’
There Lived A …
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, love, poem, poetry, self acceptance, story on December 2, 2013| 1 Comment »
Eight Unhingings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged doors, forgiveness, god, poem, poetry, self on August 18, 2013| 3 Comments »
I begged God,
enter me, God said, yes darling
you bolted the door
*
all this time searching
for a door, not seeing the door
inside me
*
knock knock
who’s there? you are.
you are who?
*
slipping this love letter
under the narrow gap
of the wrong door
*
god in the bolt,
god in the door, god
in the hand that bolts
*
standing
on my own welcome mat
roses in hand
*
knock knock
who’s there? forgive.
forgive who?
*
unbolting the door
only to notice the walls
were already gone
To an Old Tune
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blame, forgiveness, human nature, Norwood, poem on June 21, 2013| 1 Comment »
The wind is cruel
and the heat is cruel
and the drought is pitiless.
It goes on this way.
These are no reasons
to hurt each other.
But we do.
Even the weeds
are blanched and brittle,
the stems dry as pencils,
and it is not yet
the last day of spring.
The fathers go on with their
blaspheming.
The winter was cruel
and the cold was cruel
and the dark was merciless,
it bound us.
Always something
to blame. We could say
the scent of even
a few drops of rain
is generous. We could say
here is my hand.
Now We’re Talking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, letting go, love, poem, poetry, wanting on May 7, 2013| 4 Comments »
I want to hear that you have forgiven me.
I want to hear that you see how we sail
on the water of our mistakes.
I do not know how to sail, love,
and I get sick at sea,
but here we are
like two drunks
in a tiny boat
with no map
and big waves
and darling,
we might just
go back in that sea,
I’m not saying we won’t,
but for this moment,
it all seems so funny,
so funny, we have no life vests,
no oars, and the sail has holes,
We’re surrounded by water
we cannot drink, and I don’t
see any land, but here we
are, darling, here we are,
with just the right weather
for me to forget that there’s anything
I think I need to hear.
Between
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, misbehavior, mistake, motherhood, parenting, poem on February 18, 2013| 3 Comments »
“We all make mistakes,” I say.
I know she hears me.
I look out the window.
From under the quilt,
she says nothing.
Only her eye is visible
through a fold. I catch it,
then look at the leafless cottonwood.
Somewhere, a dog
is barking. Somewhere,
the scent of almond.
“And then,” I say, “we have
a chance to learn.”
The snow in the yard
flashes against the low sun.
A robin finds a spot
where spring is stealing in,
the grass already greening
between the porch and the snow.
“And sometimes,” I say,
“our mistakes hurt other people.”
In the other room, the sound
of a timer. The sound of
a sponge running over
the nap of the couch.
“And if we hurt someone,” I say,
“it can be important to tell them
we are sorry. But only,” I say,
“when we really are sorry.”
I look out the window,
wanting to notice something
instead of my own quiet hands.
My hands smooth the quilt
where her small hip rises.
I say, “We don’t always know
why we do what we do.”
The timer again. Scent
of almond. Scent of butter.
I say, “Mommy makes
mistakes, too.” I watch
the words as they leave
my mouth and land on the walls,
the quilt, the sill.
A dog barks. Again.
Sharp bleat of the timer.
I close my eyes. Neither
of us moves. Inside me
a door opens. I feel what’s left
of my anger leave with a limp.
“Do you want to ask me anything?”
I say. Slowly, she pulls the cover
away. Her face is soft, guileless
as fruit on a tree. She says
nothing, but perhaps I hear
in her the sound of a door opening.
Three Haiku
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, haiku, poem, separation, tong-len on July 26, 2012| 2 Comments »
in my hands it broke
the spine of the book
with your name on it
*
fallen petals
this table where we were not
eating together
*
beneath the half moon
I breathe in darkness
what’s left is light
Offering
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, poem, poetry on July 26, 2012| 2 Comments »
A cup, you give me.
I will fetch
the water
to fill it
to slake
your parched lips,
the water
to rinse away
your angry, ugly
thoughts, knowing
it might be
a lifetime before
the cup
at last
sits
empty.
No Way to Know
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, apology, forgiveness, poem, poetry on July 25, 2012| 2 Comments »
The only reason we don’t open our hearts and minds to other people is that they trigger confusion in us that we don’t feel brave enough or sane enough to deal with.
—Pema Chodron
The hands and tongue
would make quick work
of forgiveness, rushing
to shake hands, or to touch
the other’s feet, or to taste these words
I am sorry, please, forgive me,
but the body will not be hurried,
will grieve and shed and wander many
rooms of confusion and courage
before the real apology
rises in its own time
in its own way, perhaps doe-eyed
and unstartled, with such sweet
fragrance, with such compassion
you reach also for your own face
and say, I forgive you.
Regarding Forgiveness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blank verse, ego, forgiveness, garden, poem, poetry, shame, sonnet, weeds on July 22, 2012| 7 Comments »
I am not fit to tend that garden yet.
Though I walk by it every day. Though it
is on my property. Though there’s a thriving
patch of shoulds sprung up around the fence.
The gate is twined in bindweed, green and dense.
The rows are long-since overgrown with grass,
oregano gone viral, clover, spears
of mullein, dandelion rosettes. I’ve grown
familiar with neglect, at times forget
it’s mine to cultivate. But there it is.
Last week, I stepped inside the disarray,
took one long look at shamed disorder, tried
to see a place to start, and quickly left.
I am not ready for that garden yet.