Not Quite the River of Tears
I’ve been the kind to cry the Zambezi
or the Mekong or the Yangtze,
even when I knew it wasn’t
my fault. Yes, I’ve held on
to sentiment long after
it’s sailed beyond a league,
swerved from the pathetic to the bathetic
with one too many apologies
and enough syrup to make anyone sick.
And yet I’ve also hopped
on the buccaneering pendulum,
especially as it’s swung
to the other side
where one-word answers
and silence and martyrdom try to tamp down
the sharp edge of what’s passive-aggressive,
but in the end words like stones
have shot out of my eyes,
elbows, and mouth.
I yearn to find the spot in between,
that elusive middle ground
where yielding to acknowledgment
opens the door to recognition,
where saying I’m sorry once
and with enough sincerity
prevents any rasp of the new normal
from taking over our lives.
***
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