I could walk across broken glass,
slice the red river Nile from heel to toe
and I’d apologize for leaving behind
bloody footprints on your hardwood floors.

I am all unnecessary guilt
and ritualistic fear.
I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.

I discovered my grandmother’s footprints.
I followed them through the house,
down the leftover fragments of sidewalk.
I waited in her long-gone shadow
for the crosswalk to shine silent permission.

I carried the sound of her voice on the tip of my thumb,
rubbed my finger across it,
like the needle point on her Singer sewing machine,
watched the blood bubble up.
perfect village gazing ball.

I saw her heart plucked from her chest,
watched her fade out –
a burnt wick at the end of a candle.
She didn’t even raise an eyebrow,
bat a lash.
They dropped her heart to the floor
and she asked their forgiveness for making such a mess.

© Laura A. Lord, 2020

Thank you to MindLoveMisery for their prompt.

29 thoughts on “Forgiveness

    1. I can’t sing to save my life, but I’d totally take my hat off to this anthem. Sensing a mood is totally a thing and is the worst to try to explain to someone else, especially if they’re the ones in the mood.

      Liked by 2 people

    1. I’m positive that this sort of apologetic nature is hereditary. I know I learned it from my mother and her mother and so on. Women are taught to be sorry for any possible inconvenience they may be or have on those around them.

      Liked by 1 person

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