This is one thing I would like you to know in each moment after
I have yelled, as I sink down inside, slowly melt a little bit:
This was not my intention, this is not what I meant
to do, I am sorry.
I have no right words to say for this, the way my good intentions
shatter in my arms as I carry them to you.
Nothing that can take them back from the floor
and make them whole.
I hold them so carefully, but it’s not enough, some days, they jostle
and slip from my fingertips; dancing away from me the way things do
the moment you know it is too late to catch them. And you are crying, and I am
aching, pulling you to me,
I am sorry, forgive me, let me pick up the pieces of my patience again.
Annie Demko currently spends her days homeschooling her sons, working on her homestead and writing in her spare moments. Her poems and prose have appeared in Kindred Magazine, Grounded Magazine among others.