Unsurprised that her gift was twisted,
Her attempt to make peace
with a few innocent,
or less guity
of her time in hell,
did not make it fake,
did not make it less painful,
did not make what the rest did okay,
but it was her nature
to forgive,
to let others make mistakes, too,
to try to learn from each other,
to support each other,
always,
and there would be those
who would claim
that none meant harm.
That there were so many like her,
unsung warriors,
brave survivors,
poor souls lost in the fight,
they were the proof.
Would they also claim
that in other acts of genocide
there were none who spoke
from the sides of their mouths,
moved their lips,
to try to save others?
Would they also twist the words
to add themselves to the small group
who felt helpless,
frozen,
guilty for not doing more?
They would,
it was in their nature,
in their soul
to not accept responsibility,
to try to crawl under the blanket
of comfort that was not meant for them,
for their vileness.
And everyone,
even themselves,
knew it.
She almost did not reach out
to those few,
knowing this,
but she knew that they would always be
pirahnas
jackals
buzzards
cowards
waiting for her to say something they could use
to slough their filth,
but they only glisten the mud.