Forgiveness

I am working hard on forgiveness,
but cannot let go.
Letting go leaves me no protection,
no knife, no shotgun, no shield
and no place to go
to escape further vicious attacks.

Oh yes, they’re real.
I have fought all my life for myself
going back to the day of my birth.
Such screams, such anger,
and me cowered down in my bed
I’ve again made wet.

What is left that I must still do?

A God I’ve tried hard to follow,
a life of work,
not once in my life being certain
I’ve become myself.

A flood of tears has built up
behind a Hoover-size dam of scar tissue.
How do I give up
my fort, my strength, my power
and step out free,
away from the bindings of anger,
where I will be
vulnerable and open to attack?

It has been so long.

What would I lose if I lost my habitual self
wound up so tight,
afraid she might, finally, prove right;
that I’m now a child without maternal correction:
no longer the demanding child
shaking the bars of his crib, fearing retribution.