I Forgive
       

my left hand for not hitting back
when Roy Otis's big hand slapped
the glasses off my face.

And I forgive my left arm for not rising to block
his open palm coming toward me.

I forgive my right hand for dialing 9-1-1,
for hanging up when he yelled "No"
and I heard the wanted man's terror in his voice.

I forgive my ears for hearing the patrol car
roll up a minute later and screech to a stop.

I forgive my eyes for watching two
beefy cops burst through the grille-work
door and straddle the front room's floorboards,

Roy Otis gray-faced with fear between them.
I forgive my heart for being glad.

When the white cop shifted his grip
and demanded, Whadda we do with him,
Lady? I forgive my tongue for saying

"Let him go."

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Copyright © 2021 Carolyne Wright All rights reserved
from Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission