Old Grievances

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 wife’s 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 child’s return,

A kindergartner’s first school adventure

No one waiting to share the joy.

A father’s 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 he’s sorry. 

Words do not abrogate the sting.

A husband laughs though his wife speaks plainly.

“I’m thinking about suicide,” 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,

By hope.

Copyright 2007   Eileen Clemens Granfors