When the cake fails to rise and the test grade topples.
When the walls sting with an unwinnable argument.
When disappointment sharpens its claws. When a friendship meets a fault line.
Worse, when the baby doesn't come. When the treatment doesn't work.
When a fury of preparation and sacrifice leads only to the closed door
of a dead end. This is the time, though it may look exactly opposite. This
is the way it begins, fists raised at the unnameable injustice of injury,
then the elbows weakening with the effort until the shoulders go slack and the body,
bone by bone, begins to yield. This is how the fine art of forgiving reveals itself, one knobby
disassembly at a time, until you are crushed with the weight of it, the softness.