It was like an ice floe in December,
when the river builds up a dam of ice
and then backs up,
and the pressure builds
until the river is powerful enough
to break the dam down.
This is how it was when,
sitting beside you in the car
and longing for closeness,
I felt it, my inner river churning
against the wall between us,
and I realized I’d created it
with my own coldness—
and then came the rush of warm tears
and the gush of a desperate “I’m sorry.”
And in an instant
the dam broke
and the car was bank full
with thick currents of laughter
and I was so grateful
for the one brave second
when the heart knew the truth—
how we move forward
when we see how we’ve made
obstacles of ourselves
and then use everything we’ve got
to bring them down.
Posts Tagged ‘apology’
It Was Impossible Until It Wasn’t
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, obstacle, river on December 10, 2023| 5 Comments »
Apology
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, light on January 27, 2022| 12 Comments »
Apology
I wanted to shine a bare bulb
on that moment when I thought
I was right and you were wrong.
I wanted brash. Wanted glaring.
Wanted blatant, flagrant proof.
Now, in this moment of darkness,
I don’t care about right or wrong.
Don’t care about fault or blame.
I long to bring you starlight,
candlelight, firefly light—
the kind of glow that touches
everything with tenderness—
even our most prickly parts.
And whatever light lives inside us—
the light we house but do not own—
I want to discover that now
so in this darkest moment
we might find each other,
might find, even, ourselves.
The Apology Speaks
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, patience on July 21, 2021| 2 Comments »
How long ago did you forget about me?
I used to bloom in your mind like bindweed,
twisting and lacing through every thought,
but you were too afraid then to say my
two small words. I’m sorry. You wanted
to say them. You meant them. You knew
how much power I have. Even so, you knew
I wasn’t enough. And you knew
I couldn’t be heard in the windstorm
that raged for months. It’s quieter, now,
so quiet I’d think you could hear me knocking
inside your heart. When did you let
the blur of the days obscure me? I’m here,
waiting to be given voice. Though neglected,
I am no less important. Ah, there, I felt you
brush up against a petal, soft as forgiveness,
deep rooted as shame. I’m here, waiting. I’m here.
What’s in a Long Pause?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, communication, pause, silence on August 13, 2020| 6 Comments »
A rumor platoon.
A secret room.
A flying trapeze.
The honeyed moon.
A grapefruit pucker.
A slick river otter.
A compound fracture
and a safety measure.
The carrot peeler
and the apple tree,
the truth, the lie,
the apology.
One Irreversible
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, death, poem, poetry, timing on February 8, 2019| 2 Comments »
Preparation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, gloves, poem, poetry on November 30, 2018| Leave a Comment »
I must take off my gloves—
not the rubber gloves
for dishwashing, nor
the stiff cloth gloves for the garden,
not the wool gloves for snow
nor the leather gloves for stacking wood—
but the gloves you can’t see,
the gloves I wear to protect
you from me. Or me from you.
The invisible layers I think
I need to keep us safe. When
what you really need, what
I really want, is to show up
exposed, bare, to strip off
the unseen covering,
and from this tender place, say
I am sorry.
Where Might an Apology Lead Us?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, New Verse News, poem, poetry, police, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on October 26, 2016| 2 Comments »
Some apologies we think we’ll never hear. Some we think we might never say.
This poem was published today on New Verse News–How to Eat the Moon
How to Eat the Moon
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, chief of police, moon, poem, poetry on October 20, 2016| 2 Comments »
“We must move forward together to build a shared understanding. We must forge a path that allows us to move beyond our history and identify common solutions to better protect our communities.”
—Terrence Cunningham, president of the International Assn. of Chiefs of Police
With salt, of course,
though there’s the matter of how
to get the salt to stick
without the assist of gravity.
And paired with a slightly chilled sauvignon blank,
preferably from Marlborough, of course,
with its hints of green pepper and grass.
It doesn’t taste like cheese after all,
but then the experts never seem to be right.
It tastes more like, well, hard to say.
Try another bite.
You never thought you’d be here, did you,
sampling these bits of reflected light.
Almost as unexpected as the apology
earlier tonight from the man in the suit
so blue it looked black.
Maybe not a white. A red.
A cab. Dark fruit. Full body.
One that’s needed time to evolve.
Its complex woody tones compliment
the moon’s impressive density.
What was it he said? “While
we obviously cannot change
the past, it is clear that we
must change the future.”
Toast to the future
and raise your glass
and take another nibble of moon.
Notice how dark it is, really,
about the color of asphalt, worn down.
It’s only because space itself is so dark
that the moon seems comparatively light.
All along you thought it was white.
Where else have you been wrong?
Perhaps between sips
and forkfuls you’ll find an apology
ripening there on your own startled tongue.
At the moment, anything seems possible.
The night makes its rounds.
The Mother Confesses
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, cleaning, parenting, poem, poetry, stuff, toys on August 2, 2015| 6 Comments »
I am sorry I threw away your broken tiara,
the blue Cinderella dress with the ripped sleeves,
and the wand with the faded pink star.
I am sorry I tossed out the magic eight ball
with the blue message in the bottom that always said,
“Not Sure,” and the various mismatched sections
of Hot Wheels race tracks. And the pen
with the bobblehead that always falls off.
And you won’t find Barbie’s black high heel
rubber shoes with the broken back strap.
Or the toy Pegasus with only one wing.
Or the shiny slinky with the torque in it’s spring.
I threw them away.
There was more.
I know you loved them, those broken bits
of childhood, those souvenirs of past happiness.
I did it while you were in the other room,
and took out the guilty bag before you could peek inside.
I knew you would want them back, the jacks
you have never played with, the crappy plastic Elsa kazoo
you got at your best friend’s party.
And when you ask me, “Mom, have you seen
that little green rubber fish that I won at the carnival
four years ago”—yeah, I know you won’t ask me,
but if you do—I am prepared to say No,
no I haven’t. I’m sorry.
That’s the Kind of Woman She Is
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, friendship, mean girl, poem, poetry on February 22, 2015| 5 Comments »
An apology is the superglue of life. It can repair just about anything.
—Lynn Johnston
I wanted her to apologize,
told myself I needed it.
She gave me a blank page.
A silent room.
A heart wildly aware
of its own beating.
If she had any inkling
how rich these gifts have been,
how much more abundant and spacious my life
has become,
I think
she would have
apologized.