Apology

Too often, after the honeymoon period,
for taking you too lightly, as a gift,
I’m now grieving. Wilder, in Our Town,
said it best: not being present, every
moment, we’re not really living, just
existing. Then, death.

To compound the omission, I tried to run
from the grief, covering myself within
the bushes of a densely forgotten forest, filled with memories of before you, within me. Silly. Smiling at carved hearts in trees, that bore their pain, and mine, of stunted growth.

How foolish of me, to postpone the inevitable apology: to you, to the universe, to myself,
for not being present, focused, every moment
of our journey. Remembering your value, your worth, among the best, I can stop, grieve,
breathe, understand, and absorb the lesson.