I return each year
listening for
the ram’s horn sounding
through miles and millennia.
I start to awaken.
I return to You Mother
to account for
hurting others and myself
choosing inertia over help I should give
allowing callouses to harden my heart.
I return to You Mother
seeking to disarm the
inner triggers to my tongue’s
bottomless bombs.
I return to You Mother
to promise apologies I owe to others
to apologize for shunning the sacred
to promise to be better, if only a little
to say sorry for having to return so
often to say: I am sorry.
I return to You Mother
broken
bits of bone
begging: make me whole
I wrap my failures in prayer
readying them to toss into
fires of transformation.
I return to You Mother
because in this world of time and space
there’s no “once and for all,”
no perfection
no end to human error.
I return to You Mother
please wash me clean
and send me strength
so, I can care for others
like You care for me.
