I was told to forgive you
by the E on my piano
I was told to understand you
by the price of a coke can
I was told to remember you fondly
somewhere between a braid and Sirius
I was told to say sorry;
indignity is mold
whose spores divide in a dank place
who subsist on cellulose and
“I didn’t think I mattered too much.”
I was told to forgive myself
after Laurie’s tone—
I, human,
I, truncated Superman
I was told to understand myself
gas-lit children hold their breath.
You are a teacher now.
I was told to say sorry
by an angel in the form of a scab
who does not boast, “I had it worse,”
and trusting in my creative heart,
and in this angel, no less,
I watch cells divide
and I watch them mend.