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.