A Cargo of Green Hearts
I have learned to apologize in five ways.
First, to say "I'm sorry I hurt you,"
and move on. taillights. this is not an apology
it is an excuse to exit stage left. it is what absentee fathers
say to women as theirs shadows back out of doorways.
Ganesh said to me: I will sit on your chest tonight
and squeeze and squeeze.
Second, to say "I am sorry I met you sorry
I fell in love with you sorry I went bowling with you. . ." this is
not an apology. it is regret. a dash of anger like bad salt.
a slander of the nudity of giving, the bottomless heart which gardens this earth.
Ganesh said: since you do not value your hands,
let me take them back.
Third, to say, "I am sorry my way of being acting
speaking standing hurts you." this is not an apology. it is the
thief disguising theft by insinuating against the robbed.
it is forgetting how electricity flows.
and Ganesh: I will plant you squarely in the way of everything.
Fourth, you will say, "I am sorry--But. . ."
this is not an apology. it is a sucker punch. a handshake of
needles. a kiss that draws blood.
Ganesh whispers to you: say--if like trading so much, I have something better to trade with you.
Fifth, apologize. the silence that dropped from
three words to crush my heart into a sweet, sweet wine.
See? Ganesh said, it is not so bad, riding on the back of this mouse.
from here, you can get to where you are really going.
from here, you can go home.
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