Greatpoets: Shit Disturbers

Okay. Please, someone, get this poem.

F.J. Bergmann
An Apology

Forgive me
for backing over
and smashing
your red wheelbarrow.

It was raining
and the rear wiper
does not work on
my new plum-colored SUV.

I am also sorry
about the white
chickens.

Rooted.

I feel rooted, now. Whole. There was something essential missing when I thought that the bond/love/whatever between me and Kynnin had been so one-sided that it could be discarded without afterthought by him. It made my trust in people disappear, and my trust in people is an important part of me. Now I understand that he was just confused and sorting stuff out, and nothing vanished in a moment, nothing was illusory. The importance of this can't really be overstated.

I'm humbled, somehow, and happy to be so.

My worries about the Juggler have eased - there's no precedent, so why should I worry?

I occupy the space more completely when I'm with Chris now, not hiding away a bit of me in reserve. He keeps asking me what's wrong. Nothing is wrong, Chris, it's only that the world has depth again.

Thank you, world.