Apologetics

This poem came, as I was preparing to go to the funeral of a dear relative’s parent. I could not help but recall previous funerals and memorial gatherings, with the same set of people. One of these, of course, was my mother’s. My mother had many virtues, but she was one of those people, to whom apologies come as second nature. Unlike the voice of this poem, her reasons were not necessarily religious. Nevertheless, I grew up with this reflex instilled in me, compelled to say “I’m sorry” as a peacemaking default, in the face of any conflict. I found, over time, that this doesn’t work in every situation.

In this poem, the person giving advice is completely preoccupied with their own guilt and making amends. Even to the point of apologizing for being.

I could not resist the similarity of the word apology to apologetics, the defense of the beliefs of Christianity through argument and logic. Being Catholic at least by birth and upbringing, I have been encouraged to live with guilt front and center. But I do not suggest, that such an outlook is the most carefree way to live ones life. I hope, as fellow human beings with failings, you are able to find a happy medium, between excessive guilt and excessive pride.

But, that said, I am still very sorry, for the loss of those who have passed. Both in our family, and in yours.

Start the day 
With apologies.
Awaken with remorse.
Send a flower
On the hour,
Meaning sorry,
Meaning sorrow,
Sour stomach,
Furrowed brow
And hanging head,
Of course.

Lace your day
With apologies.
Litter, left and right.
Pardons, ardent
Lamentations.
Always in the way,
Creating
Obstacles
To others.
To existence,
Have no right.

Kneel and pray
And recount your sins.
Probe the writhing tangle.
Count your vices
And their twins.
Count them over.
Count, again.
Count which devils
Always win
Against your better angels.

Life is rife
With apologies,
So spend them as you will.
In God's defense,
in His apogee,
We sit some distance 
From His knee,
In the crater
Of His nadir,
Wild and free,
But cringing, 
Wracked with guilt.

Too soon, He'll come
To settle the score.
Apologize
Once more.

Copyright Andrea LeDew

For another poem about our bafflement with catastrophe, bad luck and misery in the world, read And Back Again.