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)