To Terms (poem)
To Terms
If it was forgiveness come for
Or, if a jar of minutes had been stationed
where a centerpiece might go
And every staged remark of the conversation
got its candy heart with a slogan
bitcher, loser, lame-o, snob, martyr, gloater
nuisance to others, at sum, unloved
tossed in
then the house would have its ballroom floor mosaic
if it was forgiveness, if it was
like some debt of paper notes that could be paid
if skins were shed by a blistering episode
that left no trace and newly made
sorry…she might be sorry, devoid
she and he and they and we
of inequality, of future sense
It isn’t clear the last word spoken would be forgiveness
Thinking of confessional wrongs and circumstances
More, when less your angel advocates in language
That upon the gelatin soul stamps jealousy
To Terms
Like Hell
Spread Your Arms
(2019, Stephanie Foster)