A Course in Miracles by Meg Freitag

A Course in Miracles

 

Forgive yourself the fire you set in your trash can

And the lemons you stole from the tree in the churchyard.

Forgive yourself what money you spent

On drugs. Forgive yourself the days that soured

Before you had a chance to open them up.

Forgive yourself the melon liqueur

You poured hastily into the grass on the side

Of the highway, and the animal you left for dead.

Forgive yourself the ages of swelling, the ages

Of eating only what’s meant to make you thirsty.

Forgive yourself the fires you didn’t even try

To put out in time. Forgive yourself the ghosts

That follow you around like skinny shelter cats,

And the sugar water you feed them

And the little velvet box you place them in

Before you get into bed each night so that they’ll stay.