Hiya!

I put on a face

I wave goodbye

I get on the bus

and in the window my mind paints faces

of all the good people who didn’t forgive.

In the window

in the passing trees and river

I paint them with the blurring colors.

The blueberry bushes with summer-green leaves

seem to me overalls and a button-up shirt.

Glasses, a wooden porch, the door cracked open,

an old man’s voice through clenched teeth

and a grudge held closer than a cup of hot coffee.

I look down.

The stark white-black-white of the pavement streaks

bring to mind an offer of forgiveness – a conditional offer –

a business offer dressed up in a black vest and a white shirt –

the guy never lightens up, says he’ll never be more than my acquaintance.

And he tries not to call me names

but he looks at me with suspicious eyes

like he knows I’m a thief.

I’m a thief,

but I remember the girl

who fills up my heart

like a page in the journalist’s notebook

with notes in the margins and upside-down.

And when I told her I was sorry she cried

and the ink stained all over.

She was scared, but so much braver than me –

she offered her forgiveness like a smile –