Creation

by Annie Kirby

I forgive you
for not having a child with the man who abused you,
or having the courage to leave him sooner; for
regretting the bravest choice you ever made.
Growing words deep inside you, seedlings unfurling, your
imagination bleeding green new life,
vibrant and tender, pushing up through the
earth, through the snow, into frosty morning light.
You are a mother of words, a mother of stories,
opening to the sun like petals in bright drifts of colour.
Understand this: there is nothing to forgive.