Where To Start With Forgiveness
I am wrapped in shame
Like the garden path lined by wilted roses
And their thorny sidekicks.
As I pluck in frustration,
Pulling prickly forgiveness from my dungarees
The garden fence shrinks into the dirt.
But I don’t want the neighbours to see my front lawn,
Not just yet.
At least until the winter is over
And the pruning is done.
What if I were to see shame
As though it were a lady beetle
Even during the peak cold?
She is forgiven for allowing her to express beauty in that present moment.
I am never angry at her for daintily dancing across my arm.
I am angry at myself for not pruning those roses sooner, though.
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2023
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