Ioanna Carlsen

Forgiveness - Poem by Ioanna Carlsen


I can only imagine it.

You ask me for it —
I deny you three times.

The cock crows.
We marry.

I forget
what there is to forgive,

and you forgive, like always, yourself.


I'm there —

I half expect to be killed
by things you have done,

yet live on.

There must be muteness in it —
pain swallowed,
harm choked on,

all this injury cast up in bones and fossil.
Clouds sailed away.
Worlds forgot.



You would
if you could,
but what if you can't —

the trick is to believe
your own story,

accident is needed for some kinds of change.



I never forgive

and that's how I recognize it.

By what I don't do
and can't, but must,
I know what it is.

Death thinks,
all things do
what they have to

for giving

give up



It's a streak of luck,
a comet that lands
in the middle of what was
and what is
and blots it all out —
it's more than repression,
beyond amnesia:
it's oblivion,
a new world.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 23, 2012

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