Poetry

The Opposite of Forgiveness

by

Tammy Robacker

It is twisted.
With a venom so spoiled and exotic,
it’s toxic. Hooded and noxious
as a Cobra, coiling around what is deeply
roiled within the jungle of you. It is Screwed
down vice-tight. Stripped and rustic,
stuck with time. With unforgiving edges. With terrible
edgy parts that can’t be pried. Or dug free or turned back
to what it was before: Pure.
Go ahead. Try.

Maybe it is Dichotomous.
A division of kinds
where, on one side, there is the idea
of kindness. But you’ve tried being objective
and never could find that type of kind.

So it is a kind of Crab.
Crusted over. Rankled and stuck
in the stink of an ocean muck. Hard-shelled
and house to a crawly vulnerable softness inside.
But those pincers! What a predatory form. You wince
at the sight of just-cut claws washed ashore. Disjointed
and lost, on your peaceful seaside walks. Recoiling
as if it’s a kind of warning: See how you are!
Fang sharp and shut fight tight
turned right upon itself
with Nothing caught in your craw.