Though I thought I did so years ago,
I am walking away from that house
once bound in anger and argument,
where the two in charge

stayed embroiled, even on the day
the first of them died, where
the one who remained tried
to argue with anyone who would

take the bait. I swam away
as the worm dangled before me,
refused to nibble most of the time,
though it was so tempting to bite.

I began to make a home inside myself
the moment I left the place that shaped
the lumpen clay of me into the me
who walked into the world,

who resolved to not to return,
not to be like them, to be kind, not
sit in judgment or fling harsh words
at those I was supposed to love.

I have not always succeeded.
I did return. I tried to listen with
an open heart even as flaming arrows
came my way.

I did not try to dodge the projectiles,
worked to welcome them,
allow them to morph into kisses
of forgiveness—

murmuring a rosary of thank yous
for that house, for those who made me,
for all of it, a prayer for the rest
of this lifetime of grace.