Poem 34 - Rethinking Regret

Winter is a deeply contemplative time for me. Maybe the “going into self” mirrors the “staying indoors” that happens in the heart of winter. I don’t know. What I do know is that I often ask myself if I have regrets for the way I’ve lived my life, for what I’ve done, for what I haven’t done, for what I’ve said and left unsaid, for what I’ve forgiven and for what I’ve yet to apologize for. I try to live without regret, without impatience for slow growth (that’s a hard one), allowing, at the very most, resignation for what’s done.

Rethinking Regret

Elaine Sexton

Let’s thank our mistakes, let’s bless them

for their humanity, their terribly weak chins.

We should offer them our gratitude and admiration

for giving us our clefts and scarring us with

embarrassment, the hot flash of confession.

Thank you, transgressions! for making us so right

in our imperfections. Less flawed, we might have

turned away, feeling too fit, our desires looking

for better directions. Without them, we might have

passed the place where one of us stood, watching

someone else walk away, and followed them,

while our perfect mistake walked straight towards us,

walked right into our cluttered, ordered lives

that could have been closed but were not,

that could have been asleep, but instead

stayed up, all night, forgetting the pill,

the good book, the necessary eight hours,

and lay there—in the middle of the bed—

keeping the heart awake—open and stunned,

stunning. How unhappy perfection must be

over there on the shelf without a crack, without

this critical break—this falling—this sudden, thrilling draft.

from Sleuth

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