THE BIG QUESTIONS, 24: WHEN WORDS COME BACK (WHY APOLOGIZE FOR THE MANNER YOU LIVED?)

This is Poem #24 in my series of poem responses to the Big Questions to celebrate National Poetry Month (NaPoMo, April 24). This poem-a-day project is an effort to use poetry to define what one needs to know as truth that are matched by reality we have confidence in.

 

 

 

 

WHEN WORDS COME BACK

(For my Children: That They May Forgive)

 

There are no lessons deep enough, clear enough,
that they could hold on to or use to decipher,
or understand, or even to respond: Of what use?

Of what use are murmuring creeks that turn
blue when they flow into the river’s mouth
as it meanders to an open sea, itself a tributary

to all that is deep and dark and dangerous
in these untamed oceans, beginnings and ends
of life, the vast expanse of all our explorations.

What does it matter that the moon swings low
over pine branches, or that the urgent calls
to trek back to forgotten origins are inexorable?

You can only counsel them enough of beauty,
because this earth makes it more often an omen
of regrets, or even an augury of faithless betrayal.

When the words you lisped--as they turned
somnolent in your arms--come back to haunt them,
they will rush back to you and pray for strength.

When that time comes, do not mumble an apology,
because this has never been needed nor accepted.

 

—ALBERT B. CASUGA