When scales fall from my eyes
day after day,
When I see with new light,
When I see how many of my constructs
have been wrong (all of them, really)
Should I be surprised that gratitude
grows as easily out of tears
as green blades after rain?

However justly I may have earned
all the isolation in my life
(however weird I was, and blind, and gross)
there is redemption:

None of us has ever owned
anything to cast us from the circle.
None of the condemnations ever
had any truth. None of us
deserve (nor have we ever)
to be anything but celebrated, loved.

There’s no account I need to go and settle,
no debts, no currency of wrongs,
no need to reconstruct an altered story —
I forgive myself, and everyone,
and wake to home.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 6, 2015