We are forgiven the moment
we ask for it;
but we cannot be relieved of
we admit the problem.
We stole land in the fifteenth,
sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries because our weapons
were harder and bigger,
because we had a book we loved
and could justify stealing gold
and land with the idea that
bringing brown, naked, natural
people our book would surely
save their lives.
Hell is what you make of it,
Sometimes there’s nothing left
to do in life on stolen land but
Kiss your enemy, invite them back
to the table.
Ask forgiveness, admit our faults
Kiss your wife or friend when
the two of you have a bad day.
“Change your stars,” like William
did in that weird, anachronistic
movie with knights and Queen
Slap the CIA an emoji kiss,
and forgive mass murder and lies;
no one I know tries to do wrong;
they at least try to find the right
book to their crimes justify.