What's it like to apologize in your state or country?
My poem:
How to Say Sorry in Canada
Part One
Small things are always your fault
even if they aren't
So, in Canada,
apologize to the people
that brush past you aggressively
apologize to the person
who knocked the bag out of your hand
apologize to the cashier
for her mistake
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Part Two
In Canada
things have feelings
Apologize to the soap
for dropping it in the shower.
Apologize to the rug
for tripping on it
Apologize to your computer
for making a mistake
Apologize to the stop sign
for not stopping.
---
Part Three
In Canada,
never apologize for big things,
the things that really are your fault.
But you can apologize
for historic injustices and abuses
It's always time for truth and reconciliation
as long as the abuse happened
100 years ago.
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Meanwhile,
Here's a blog and hubski conversation about apologies:
When I wish upon a star I end up seeing you Picking up the threads I end up where I begin Sewing strands just to see What they be on me An image comes to light My rods adjust to see Twisting strands, you and me A little strand of life A rainy mood to beat Cross each other in a life A bridge is knit between Two thumbs and fingers crossing crafting strands Child hands play twisting lives up for a laugh Youthful play a fullsome cannot describe my inner drive Lulling me mightily I close my eyes trying to epitomize Darkness comes first Then light, diffuse Twisting shapes, not a heart Hard lines, spinning apart Where are those soft threads, soft hands, soft feet Not thinking about what’s next to eat Discriminating hunger refined by thought and feeling Mirroring lust the should of feel Should I choose or just be, mixing sand and surf my foot leaves prints by moving the earth Innocence comes first. Than knowledge and hurt. Self-control yet again, domestication of sins The apple falls far from the tree blame the wind The early bird gets the worm, then a snake bit me The tree, a tree, any tree I guess, is quite enough for me to make a mess I will apologize, but not with words. Instead I will carry mood and feeling into action. Transmutate thought into being. What do I have left Words are so useless, drama king being I live to die, how else may I be, if not me than me than me Kiss my ass, iconoclast, I knit my words for thee I spin yarn into hard bales for lil’ plump hands and those that act to be