Waiting
by Laurie Benson 2020
photo by: Photo by Andrej Lišakov on Unsplash
"I'm sorry," the mostdifficult words my lips
can form,
except for maybe
these three...
"I was wrong."
Holding back,
lips pursed together,
teeth clenched so the
words won't come
out. Then salty
tears touching
the corners of my
mouth with,
"I was wrong,"
hiding inside.
Where change begins
might become a friend,
companionship and
spaciousness,
portals to imagining
a different way.
Opening between.
Awakening to the scene.
Creating a new dream.
Sights unseen.
"I was wrong."
Unbelievable
humility.
Power, authority.
Might in being right.
Ready to fight.
Overwatering, the
kitchen too clean,
tucked in a bit
tight, but still...
"I'm right."
A tree timbered down,
the stump to be
ground out. Stubborn,
yet strong. Still feeling
purposeful, legs sitting
on the flat-
growth-ringed-seat.
One willing to break
and to bend, even
break down in the end,
but not, sorry
for being. Not wrong
for having been
planted too close to
the path or
perhaps in the way.
Asking, "Is it me?"
Right?
Wrong?
Sorry?
Humility.
Flexibility.
Imagination.
Conversation.
A long pause.
Be brave.
You are not in the way.
You are just wrong
at times.
Say it, but
don't be sorry.
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