Of course I forgot them, the impatiens
that I had left out on the deck. I forgot
them on the coldest night of the spring.
Sure they looked okay in the morning,
but by afternoon, they were darkened
and sullen and droopy things, dead.
How many times have I neglected
the ones that I love? How many
nights have I left them in the cold,
not for lack of love, but out of simple
absentmindedness? It is not that I didn’t
expect the cold, but I was distracted
with my own small sufferings.
Sometimes I’m sorry is not enough.
That is when I promise myself
to do better, to be more aware,
more generous, less blinded
to what’s happening all around me
in the world. But soon enough,
there’s this wound and this deadline,
this loss and this wish, and I just
don’t notice how cold it is,
the thermometer dropping,
the quiet leaves doing what leaves do.