I want you to learn about forgiveness
I want you to tell your mother you know she didn't mean to project all of her emotions on you
that she was only your age when she had you and you are still learning too
tell her that you love her, that the best parts of you came from her
I want you to call your dad
I know hearing his voice makes you clench your fists
I know your muscles still hate him even when your heart says you don't
tell him the way his absence had you crying on your bathroom floor before you knew what a panic attack was
tell him the reasons why you blame him for the way you love
then tell him you forgive him
you forgive him even though he never asked you to, you forgive him for yourself
I want you to make a list of every person that's ever wronged you
I want you to burn it and I want you to wish them well
the kind of love you've found, pure and warm
there is no room for resentment in a heart like yours
and then I want you to forgive yourself
even if you feel like you don't deserve it
be gentle with your mind, give yourself a place to rest
you are doing far better than you think

I chronicle in rhythm and rhyme,
Scribbling, jotting, imaging the times:
I dug down to Lucy,
And China's Great Wall,
Compared Viking raids with personal tirades;
Asked God questions, questioned Jeff Sessions,
And all of that where-with-all.
I've called wrong out, and written about
Our scandals, all fancy or true;
I've offered you solace,
Even opened my wallet,
And grieved when it was due.
I've been self-righteous,
And sometimes right selfless,
When parsing my love for you.
But now it should end,
I've less left to send,
And so love I bid, Adieu.

After the crossing

I've tea with the ferryman –


no need to travel.