in the painting we are running somewhere towards a hole where all the/ people we need to forgive sleep, burrowed below their grim winter/ grasses, fury they are — // eger to pet them, sorry, we say, we’re late in our forgiving. Come out, come out, we promise our version of the witch is friendly.

Claressinka Anderson

What does it mean to be late in our forgiving? Are we late if we don’t forgive immediately and have to think about it for a little while? If real and true forgiveness happens over time, how can it ever be late? It seems to me blue mountains denote a kind of rolling forgiveness that looks like forgetting — forgiveness when a fog rolls in that might smell like smoke and ash.

I want the kind of forgiveness that is right on time. I want to forgive in a way that brings me to tears and makes me think of years gained not drinking the poison. Years of washed away regret that never has to happen. My blue mountain forgiveness will roll in a different way. It will roll like falling apart and back together. My blue mountain forgiveness looks like forgetting, too, and smells like magnolia and rain.