Oh how good we feel on those
straight lines, so sure of our path, running parallel to the turning world,
convinced of our own deservingness, the justice of it all, we are so right, righteous
even, and able to see where everyone else is going wrong, what they should be saying,
doing, who they should be doing it for.
And what about the crooks and
fissures in the road behind us when we stamped and grumbled, the times we ran
back from fear and not toward, the fences we kicked in, the gates we refused to
walk through when someone opened them for us, when we refused to move on and
blamed the road we had made and chosen?
Here they come again, more clefts
and fractures, and that bend ahead just willing us to refuse it.
allowing for forgiveness
someone else’s footsteps
hardened in the dry earth
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