My court-appointed self
waves her gavel at me
as her eyes spit arrows

and I must apologize
a hundred and one times

to you, for my sake

because mommy was poor
in matters of the soul
so she took guilt and stitched it
into a charming quilt.

Fifteen years have passed
since she told me
not to shout at the good-hearted
who don’t share my blood;

fifteen years
and I still stitch my own guilt
only to back it up
with an elegant apology

when you shut me up
as if it weren’t my turn
to speak.

It’s self-preservation, you see,
because when my hands felt tiny
the gods couldn’t deal with me
drawing boundaries in thick ink
on my little world map.

Now I’m a big girl
with parent hands,
you’ve been my prince
for quite a while

and I don’t want you to break.

Romanian poet

Last updated September 25, 2011