The Apology

Poetry — By on December 2, 2012 at 5:00 am


He asked me how old I was
When my parents got divorced.

Riding my bicycle around the driveway,
I didn’t say what I was doing
When they called me inside to break the news.

In the foyer,
Or where I stood when they stooped down,
To tell me.

Or what I remember feeling.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked straight into my eyes.
When he said the words.

Waves rolling up to my throat,
I didn’t tell him about the startling emotion.

I had to suppress
In twenty-two years.

Or, that he was the first man
To apologize.

Or, how it changed me.

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