Forgive Me

FORGIVE ME

but I have been nursing a well-deserved grudge
against church parking lots. 

I realize it’s hypocritical to ask for forgiveness
for hating the place where I learned the word

but I don’t know what else to ask for 
when asking for respect and rights

did nothing but show the hand
on the wheel—the same fingers

that flick thin pages
to find chapter and verse 

to curse my neighbor for loving
his partner—turning right 

toward a savior made of threats and slurs
to afford groceries and gas

while the oceans fill with trash
and the early November sky

dumps a foot of fresh snow
before its season.

I learned how to drive in winter
by doing donuts in the church parking lot

so I could sense the slide
and swerve instead of scare

when it snows all of a sudden.
And it’s ironic, I know, but Wednesday

morning I passed five church parking lots
that hadn’t yet been plowed 

and all I could think 
was how strange it is

to have learned how to drive safely
in the same spot where people pray

for protection from the world
when I want to be protected

from the one they voted to make.
So I ask you one more time

forgive me for nursing this grudge
because I don’t want to live in a world

where I don’t want all of us safe.
Forgive me. 

//

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