Washing my Face

Washing My Face

 (”Then he washed his face, got a grip on himself, and said, ‘Let’s eat.’” Genesis 43:31)

I never expected you to bring this up so many years after,
I never expected you to be so sensitive.
I told you then, and I tell you again,
I only did what I thought was right
and no, I will not politely say I’m sorry it hurt you
anyway.

+I knew you would think me weak
+stubborn or troubled, bitter or twisted
+to bring up the issue a dozen years later
+that you never took kindness to address at the time.

I know your kind, you keep squeezing and squeezing
until one small drop, one dollop of tubed apology tops your
dessert that has nearly melted with the waiting.

+And I know your kind, the kind that will not bend, a knife in the wind,
+and will only make my second and third attempt to turn your head around
+more reason to suspect I never lived up to your
+unblinking standards.

Standards are standards, and you broke them.
You want my grace but you hate to give to others.
So you push me and push me (why would I admit
wrongdoing when I only did what I thought was right)
despite whatever pain you say it caused
my hands are clean; you’re the lawless one.

+I’ve admitted, bowed, taken the blows,
+each misstep I admitted, scraped and cowed; you know
+all this. And, to try my grace: apologize.
+I have no hidden agendas, no moral alibis,
+but would mouth a simple “Thanks”, though late,
+the unabated, ‘sorry the wounds bled more for actions”
+would receive grace and more than was sent to me.