Maybes and Hedged Bets

Look again where you did hesitate

Look close at your regrets

Check all that you refused to risk

Because you hedged your bets

Take note of how you let you down

Take stock of what you lost

Remember that the only way to win

Is to risk what you have not

Next time that you say maybe

Closely analyze the odds

Make sure to weigh regret

Times three or maybe more

When opportunity is gone again

She may burn that motherfucking door

Beyond Sorry

“I’m sorry…” she begins

Trailing off down the path of

Self recrimination

“There’s no sorry.” I tell her

It’s about the dishes maybe

It’s about expectations I don’t have

That she fears I might

It’s how the past gnaws her legs

Inhibiting movement

We are way beyond sorry

I wash the dishes

It’s a gift not a chore

So small I barely notice

I vacuum and mop the floor

Wipe down the baseboards

Clean the doors

She’s sorry and she’s not sorry

She thinks I think she ought to do

Different

It takes time to rewrite the story

We are way beyond sorry

There’s no judgment when I’m cleaning

There’s celebration

What to give the person who has everything

But time

Who gives to others without holding back

Who creates space, and opportunity

Supports, and lends a hand

It’s only temporary

This life

This moment

This situation in situ

The history is long and tangled

The friendship well established

She says “Thank you,”

Without an apology this time

Reacquainted

We are beyond sorry

No regrets

I survey the next room

And pick up the cloth

It’s not enough, but it’s something

She found a way to leave me afternoon Chai

I detail cleaned the coffee grinder

She gave me a beautiful bowl and a wooden elephant

I vacuumed the cobwebs from the corners of each room

I am sorry and not sorry

We are beyond it

Way beyond sorry

Full of gratitude for chosen family

I say “Thank you”

Without apology this time

A Distinction

Does the rose have hopes of red

A longing for a certain shade

Velvet texture crimson

And is that rose disappointed

By its hue of white yellow or pink

Or does that rose grow

In the shade of its genetic distinction

Glowing softly in the evening light

And will the dandelion cry

That it is not a rose

And lacks the thorns and reverence

Bestowed upon its kin

Will it wish to be gathered into bouquets

Symbolizing love

Or is it happy to be medicinal

Golden sunspots on the lawn

Will it revel in its distinction

Pithy roots and hollow stemmed

And will I grow in my distinction

Into the form genetically bestowed

Taking talent and experience

Mixed with trials and errors

And grow within and without my bounds

Not looking at the rose or at the dandelion

With envy or disdain

Can I pull courage from the earth itself

And hopes down from the sky

Transmuting ethereal energy into a

Common cosmic flow

Of love

Will I dance in gentle breezes

And bend low in the storm

Will the sunlight bid me open

And the twilight bid me close

But most of all will I grow here

In this individual distinction

Let my colors be my colors

Without regret or woe

Let my texture be my texture

Each leaf and petal flowing

Out from center

In its predetermined pattern

And will I choose to walk a path

And a destiny pursue

Which will add to life’s collection

Of bountiful blessings

Will I bloom