Forgiveness

Every wound stricken comes like a rock Blows born before our armor was conceived or our coordination mature enough to dodge, bob, weave stories tight enough to protect us from slander implied or love denied, Then we come of age to Do the dance Pushing off and pulling away arms extended to measure the safest distance and catch stones cast in our direction missing the offender who first dropped them on soft hearts, And despite the bloody bruise in our palm we can’t seem to successfully Put it down for no later than we see the new sinner’s arm raised does it reappear for recompense in vain we toss it to the land only to remerge in hand to write their wrongs deep in the sand where no ocean could reach to wash away their shame Instead Wind came And they’ve forgotten all the same While we clench the pebble If only to keep from hurling it back Til the blood in our hand Drips, soaked into the sand Gather bloody rocks Into bloody sand and soil Plant and stack them with intention into a shield of compassion Never again to be broken Or thrown.