~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Benjamin Schmitt

Ode on Forgiveness

Yesterday my kids were playing outside;

one was trying to sneak delicacies of dirt

into a blackened mouth, one had climbed a tree

proclaiming a new empire from the branches.

I stood up, startled to see my neighbor approaching,

her black hair sweeping across her face, forming

an illegible script. “I need to apologize,” she said.

It was about a year ago when my kids wandered

into her yard, throwing rocks and ripping out

the grass. They were chased back here by

her and her cuddly, yelping dog. I was reading

at the time and she really laid into us all.

In fact, the rage poured tongues out of her body,

they plopped on the ground, licking and cursing

the earth. But yesterday she was vulnerable, the

gravity of remorse pulling her skyward. “I screamed

at your kids, I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”

I forgave her right there, telling her as much.

Even though she looked disdainfully at my

offered hand, we shook on the matter and I think

everyone has moved on. The incident

caused me to ponder though. Now I’m wondering

what to do about the family member whom I

haven’t forgiven and the friend whom I forgave

but still resent. And I dare not forget about all

the things I must ask forgiveness for. When

I do I pray I may have just a little of that courage

my neighbor had as she walked barefoot

across the broken glass of her own hostility

carrying the cracked lantern of humility

honestly, towards the dark recesses of a face.

Benjamin Schmitt is the Elgin Award-nominated author of four books, most recently The Saints of Capitalism and Soundtrack to a Fleeting Masculinity. His poems have appeared in Sojourners, Antioch Review, The Good Men Project, Hobart, Columbia Review, Spillway, and elsewhere. A co-founder of Pacifica Writers’ Workshop, he has also written articles for The Seattle Times and At The Inkwell. He lives in Seattle with his wife and children.