with all the sorrow I've felt this year
with all the work I've done for months
with having been told how much I'd helped
with trusting that things would be fair
with trying to oversee the whole process
with trying to re-establish family ties
with all I've thought and felt and done
I feel now I've done something wrong
I feel I've been slapped in the face

I'm sorry that I'm angry
I'm sorry that I'm taking it out on you
I'm sorry that I don't understand
I'm sorry that you won't explain
I'm sorry that it ends here
I'm sorry that I can't sleep
but most of all
I'm sorry you had a secret agenda
I'm sorry you didn't trust me

your wish was to care for a baby
a noble venture sure
but with the way it's been delivered
in secret swaddling wrapped at night
the child's smile but dimly seen
the messenger speaks not a word

the vessel is now tarnished
it resists a cleansing wash
residue more than skin deep
decays the solid structure
it rusts the metal bones
crumbling flakes and powder
where once the gleam of light
the base stands feebly solid
supporting the breathless urn