You Came Not To Forgive

You Came Not To Forgive

When you went back to
your childhood home and
walked from room to room
in the darkness,
around furniture that
used to be there,
down the blue hall,
and into what was
your parents’
bedroom--
when you approached the
window with drawn
velvet drapes
and the arms came out
from behind them
and gave you gifts:
the sword which you
drew across your chest
like a horsehair bow
across a violin,
leaving a thin red line
and the iron glove
that slipped itself
onto your left hand--
when you accepted them,
you knew you could
leave that place
without looking back
and you knew what
you had to do.

©JEF 1992