Once again my dream becomes a nightmare
I reject my daughter who rejects me
In sleep as in life
Although sleep reveals the reality
That reality obscures
Because in the dream, she is 5
Not 35
I am bloody from her thrusts
Though she thrusts with a doll
Not withheld grandchildren.

Each day, I forgive
First myself
Then her.

Not each night
But often enough
My dreams remind me
That forgiveness
Is not a sentence with a period.

Forgiveness is an art
That must be nurtured
Trained
Practiced
Worked at
Attempted again and again
Never perfected