<wakoski's "an apology"> 2004-01-15.9:22 p.m. An Apology Diane Wakoski Past exchanges have left orbits of rain around my face, Words used-up as the empty shell of the bettle. I did not mean to insult you, but perhaps wanted to scorch you with that steamy teakettle of my 2700 years, to tell you youth shouldn't be humble as the tablecloth, but arrogant and fierce/ we get toothless with age; should bite hard when we're young. To tell you not to follow masters whose egos are sponges, To tell you not that you had nothing to say but that you need to pour it out at your own speed, in an empty space where it will knock against you. I saw the dream of the tongue floating in a bowl of water as a desperate sacrifice. You, giving up your own words, You. giving up identity to float safely on display in another man's ocean; I saw everthing that made me weep spools of rotten thread for my own disconnected life- drop cement towels from my knees and broken clocks from my elbows. Wanting to disregard the past; revenge my own life, the pain of recognition and hate mingles with the identity. I apologize for lack of grace- not passing you with a zen stance. Elders should be lacquered in their place. And women commit their words to the dream code; toads & shooting stars in the blood, icy milk pails, snow, oranges, diamonds, eyes to the ground. Women should be silently riding their zebras. 1964 back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad