Confessor, I am reborn,
Vain with ash and frankincense;
Absolved of my inverted pleasures,
Reconciled to the morality of suffering.
Confessor, I am returned,
Predestined to gravely offend;
Nimbly contrite in my genuflection,
Gracefully weak-kneed in my resolve.
Confessor, I am reborn,
Although aged by my discretion;
Examined satisfactorily by my conscience,
Blessedly relieved through your encouragement.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
‘A true confession: I believe in a soluble fish.’
- Charles Simic, The Unemployed Fortune-Teller: Essays and Memoirs
Written - somewhat cynically - in response to a situation with an immediate family member, who is seemingly unable to break out of a continual cycle of apology and recidivism. There is no doubt that her ‘sorries’ are meant at the time but within weeks, days, sometimes even hours, she’s at it again.
