There is so much hard to forgive.
The man, swamped in his own grief,
Slumped in a chair, an abyss of white tile
Separating him from the high bed
Unable to reach out, to hold his wifeís hand.
She drifts away from this life, alone.
The mother not home, gaily off visiting
Reveling in freedom, she deserves a few hours,
Forgetting the childís return,
A kindergartnerís first school adventure
No one waiting to share the joy.
A fatherís quick swat over a small infraction
Saddle shoes with broken backs
A new awareness, the presence of violence
She had only run by for a hug.
He says heís sorry.
Words do not abrogate the sting.
A husband laughs though his wife speaks plainly.
ďIím thinking about suicide,Ē she had said.
As if she would never follow through
As if she would joke of her chilling despair.
He looks past her, through her, choosing to pretend.
What good is misered hurt to the heart?
Love can prevail, I Corinthians 13,
Bitterness, remorse, sorrow slide away
The clock strikes, the ball lowers,
Love balances, buoyed against gravitas,
Copyright 2007 Eileen Clemens Granfors