They walked together up the street you live on
for the first time walking-as-one since
That Horrid Incident a while ago when
you charged her
with letting him
soil your new lawn.
You tried at the time of trial to be gentle,
tender about it, really, yet she took it badly,
naturally, as anyone might, reproached
with a basic crime or misdemeanor.
That walk remains fixed in your mind months later
because it educed from you a duty.
You approached them slowly, softly,
and you led with soft deliberate words,
Pardon me if I'm intruding on your walk.
May I apologize to you for the other day?
If that's what you mean to do,
she replied, almost cried, and you stood
relieved of the words delivered with right
intention, received with much grace, such
homecoming delight.
So you apologized plain and simple,
I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, it was not my intention.
The events of the day must have worn down my attention.
She waded in deeply, upright and heartfelt, you could tell,
I appreciate that so much; you could never know how much.
Still, to repeat it, you could tell it,
for she spoke clear with plain bearing,
relaxed and beaming and true.
Then you overheard yourself say these words few, departing,
It would be hard to keep taking the walk with your friend
as you do every day, forever being reminded of that mean old man.
Her next sweet words moved you then and move you still,
I just decided to put the whole thing out of my mind.
To which you rejoined, Let's both do that; and she selected the last word, Let's.
You might guess her feelings but know well your own
for you felt then as you feel now, remembering,
like the time you renewed your marriage vows.
Such is the yoga of remembrance, confession, forgiveness.
