FORGIVENESS OF A KIND
There is a kind of person who’ll forgive
most everything of everybody, over
and over. They seem unable not to
do so—loudly, as if they like to make
a stink of it.
I knew one who was so kind, she forgave
me sins I hadn’t heard of. What drove her,
I do not know. When I thought she was through,
she’d start right up again. I couldn’t take
it anymore and knew not what to do,
then, struck by kindness, said “I forgive you.”
“For what?”
“For everything,” I answered. She
did not ask what everything meant, nor bat
an eye, nor speak to me again. What gratitude
I felt to learn that honesty,
as she’d maintained, was divine policy.
Forgiveness is divine as well, now that
I think of it.
James B. Nicola, a returning contributor, is the author of seven collections of poetry. His decades of working in the theater culminated in the nonfiction book Playing the Audience, which won a Choice award. He has also received a Dana Literary Award, two Willow Review awards, Storyteller’s People’s Choice award, one Best of Net, one Rhysling, and ten Pushcart nominations—for which he feels both stunned and grateful.