when i start getting rid of things,
i keep some more that i shouldn’t:
like when i say i will throw a box
of letters away, i end up keeping
the box and then what’s inside;
like when i say i will give my yellow
books away, i end up covering
them with all-new, shiny garb;
like when i say i will put my old
clothes away, i end up wearing them
for the last time to relive the then;
when i start getting rid of things,
they cling to me, and i oblige.
Some people who have been
taught by their parents to be mindful
about apologizing for a wrong or
inconvenience done to other people and
who despite the harshness to good-old
values prevalent in today’s society
manage to keep that positive trait intact
would find it difficult to fathom that
some people do not say sorry.
Some people are just solicitous,
while others are not,
but in a semi-eschatological age
it is a well-entrenched nicety
that needs to be donned — call it
red tape, if you must. When you use
somebody’s time, you say
“Thank you.” When you waste
somebody’s time, you say
“Sorry.” It is almost automatic,
except for those who have ascended
the higher rungs of the spiritual,
economic, social, or political ladder
who seem to have earned their right
to violate Grandma’s teachings
and dismissed them as evidence of
antiquity, if not, obsolescence.
It must require a healthy dose of
anointing to mutter an apology.
ruth mostrales
june 16, 2010
Up there she cries like a modest lady
Sating the parched through a heart that’s sturdy
And nurses to being the dead of the earth
And vows to multiply her mirth.
When her heaviness is great, the seas quiver
The farmer shake afraid of too much splatter
In tandem with the wind, the eagle would rather
Rest and fly when she is gladder.
Pray that the clouds are ever gentle
Be it sunny or rainy weather
Hide beneath a roof or something stable
When she starts to break her manacle.
(c) Ruth Mostrales, February 2009
Court of Reverie 