in the year 5770

i was born an imperfect child.

i wonder how they told my mother?

when she first held me, did she see a beautiful baby?

or was she alarmed
instantly
by how much she knew
she failed
to be the sort of person
she would need to be

to navigate
my obvious
flaw

veronica taught me
to be
self-accounting

to make sure
my actions mattered

that what i did
or failed to do

could mean the difference
between winning the girl

and losing the fight

next month,
i will be reminded of
the woman
who bore the struggle
of bringing me

into the reality
of reminders

that on yom kippur

in the year 5770

i look upon all that is holy
and say:

forgive me

if i have torn
any
fibre

of our link.

i see that you are single

disconnected in a sense

from how much
i seek your forgiveness
each and everyday

because when i look @ myself
in the morning
in the mirror
i see it

imperfect me.