There is no magic number of “I’m so sorry”s

That will ease the pain of being forgotten.

It will take time before the burning sting

Lessens, and forms a scab.

After the scalding, as silently healing

My wounded pride retreats from you

I will await the day when the heat that you give

Does not feel like a burn.

That won’t happen because of “I’m so sorry”

It will happen because I applied pressure

And salve and a bandage

To the painful spots where I still find myself

Bleeding from old wounds I thought

Had healed themselves.

And after I tend to this pain

I’ll be back at the table with you

Hoping that next time you’ll remember

Just as I remember how to heal a burn.