Pity the Forgetful

Lord, pity us forgetful for things undone,
the messages never sent,
love not passed on.

Forgive us the hapless lapses
each day occur,
if even without intent, our fractured focus
that moves on before receiving assent.

We’re impatient with lids on jars,
so tightly sealed
we must pry with pliers to get open,
and the bags’ “tear here”
that require the use of shears;
phone calls from unknown parties
interrupting naps
only seeking to steal our money.

It is our goal to be calm, commodious,
and wise,
though in this we fail
and publicly display frustration.
That does not mean
that any of us set out to be Scrooge.
Our rage is at most part of aging.

So, please forgive.

Let us find your face gentle and smiling
when at last we reach
the end of this journey, your gift
in its wrappings of grace and beauty:
height, width, and depth.