By Devon S Roberts
I don’t mean sorry as in I regret the actions that I took that led to this great upset, but sorry, as in: today is three years since my mother died, and I told no one, not even her I just feel better among strangers who can’t summon old, long-dead names— it’s a feeling like swallowing hydrogen peroxide Listen, I know I should be sorry for how recklessly I bandy about these terms like mother and estranged, and I don’t think we were ready for each other, and no one told us what to do I’m sorry because I should be an animal in grief; be an elephant marching alongside elders to watch them quiet themselves away to lie over their elder’s bones and remember the exact position of the sun or taste of the brush and bark But everyone else should apologize for how they romanticize the way a dog waits for his owner to offboard the subway and let him back into the world
Contributor Bio
Devon S Roberts (they/he) is a senior majoring in English with a concentration in Creative Writing at Ramapo College.