by Justine C. Tajonera
Deep, dark, scarlet
shame shrouded me
the whole afternoon
after realizing a
mistake.
From everywhere,
it snakes into the littlest
gestures: setting a
schedule, writing,
eating.
No, I am not like
this,
I am not in-
considerate.
I go into the anatomy
of the offense,
offering excuses,
shuddering at my
inadequacies,
useless exercises.
I take it apart
and see it for what
it is,
I see the broken
mechanism
(for so often, I pretend
it is not
there)
and I offer up my
culpability
without the cyclic despair
of self-blame.
And the miracle of
a blank slate
is mine
to claim.
(Jan. 20, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/tinou/92858032/
