Balm

Balm

I forgive . . .
        my boss for not understanding about depression,
        my mother-in-law for not understanding my children,
        myself for not being perfect.

I forgive . . .
        my sister’s husband for molesting me when I was a teen,
        my sister for not leaving him when I told her,
        myself for not telling sooner,

I forgive . . .
        the teenager next door for molesting me when I was five,
        my mother for not noticing that I was out of her sight,
        myself for being ashamed for so many years.

Forgiveness . . .
          bathes my spirit with healing poultice,
          expunges poison from gaping wounds,
          provides a balm for my weary soul.

Forgiveness . . . .
            stings and growls in reluctant acceptance,
            offers more than carefully chosen words,
            slowly works its medicinal cures.

Forgiveness . . .
            begins with loving myself,
            reaches out to both stranger and kin,
            gives me freedom to live in the present,

Pat Nelson
June 19, 2008
Re-worked July 7, 2011