BOOKS JUNE 11, 2008
Like that time when all I wanted
was to hole up in my room. I had allowed myself
to be forgiven, and there I was feeling
this pathetic, incriminating gratefulness.
Or at my favorite professor's dinner party
when I gave birth to what I thought
was a new idea, and the room fell quiet
with tolerance. I still hear that tolerance.
Or that evening I forgave her her betrayal
because it lessened mine, and found myself
for once the forgiver, trying to enjoy that rare
high ground. Poisonous, the air up there.