Sunday, May 11, 2014

I Was Better At Forgiving

I was better at forgiving 
before I knew how much they'd take:
the words out of my mouth,
the plum out of my cake.

They will take my daughter's
daughter's Christmas snow;
they will take the words grandmother spoke 
for sky and stone and bee;
they will take the bees themselves from home,
till hive and honey, wax and comb 
are scholars' curiosities.

I will never say "I love you" meaning
what I alone would mean:
no, I will make claims
I have no right or strength to make, 
or else I will exclaim,

"I like you very much, 
and I hope that you will thrive,
than dead I'd very much 
prefer that you're alive."

I was better at forgiving
when I thought that I could choose;
I was better at forgiving
before I knew that I could lose.


thalarctos said...

That's profound and beautiful, Dale.

Thank you.


Dale said...

Thanks so much, Raven!

Sabine said...

Quite a statement. We need poetic language to express our fears and hopes and to state the facts. The language of science rarely finds the heart.

Tom said...

That was good, and moving.

Dale said...

Thanks Sabine & Tom!

Kristen Burkholder said...

Injury does make us reflective and recalcitrant. This is such a deep poem. Thank you for writing it

Dale said...

thank you Kristen!