I pass the big nursery 
on the way to see my father 
for the first time in a year, 
trees upright, supported 
by cables, thriving in mid-morning 
hose rainbows, fertilizer measured
and distributed. I imagine  
working the harvest,
a bone-tired feeling like penance 
the smell of it under fingernails 
and clutching heavy to long sleeve 
shirts. Better this than the continued 
forgive me help me to forgive. 
I am afraid there is no one 
to absolve my sins: 
without shame 
there is no relief in mercy 
without mercy only forgetting, chronic
preoccupancy. The lines of pear trees dizzy
as I pass—the smell the gasoline strong.
If given more time I would take my shoes off,
and feel the slight itch of summer grass, sweep 
up all the dew I can before the sun’s too hot,
I would let my feet be washed.

Listen to a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast.

Photo by Sigmund on Unsplash

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2 Responses

  1. My book club just finished the book, Absolution by Alice McDermott. I came away from our time very curious about the concept of absolution. In your poem the following phrases spoke to me:
    Without shame there is no mercy
    Without mercy there is only preoccupy & forgetting.

    I go back to this book & wonder how and if the characters were absolved. And then the application to myself is stunning. Thank you for this poem!

  2. Lila,
    Your poem is so rich in imagery, and yet those images quietly speak a powerful truth about our deep need for absolution. Thank you!

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