The fluffy small clouds
floated blissfully
in the crisp clear
autumn sky
as small birds
played
in the breezes.

“Who could not praise God
on a day like this?”
I thought to myself
as I approached
the cemetery
where a young mother
cried
over her son’s
grave.
But it wasn’t my son
or my fault.

Nearby, the birds sang joyfully
as they searched for food.

“I’m just living my life
as best I can”,
I thought to myself
as I pondered suffering.
“I don’t add to it,
do I?”

Sure, I’ve squabbled with friends,
causing them distress,
but not enough
to ruin a beautiful day?

I’ve benefited
from the circumstances of my birth.
Not deliberately, not consciously,
but certainly not enough
to contribute
to the death
of a young black man?

I’ve sought to send forth
tiny ripples of hope
but have I sent forth,
unaware,
greater ripples of hurt?

I ponder these things
on The Day of Atonement
and cry out
“Forgive me”

A little bird looks up at me
quizzically chirps
and now the bird is silent too.

Notes: I wrote this on Yom Kippur, 2015 as I contemplated my own unexplored faults. The "tiny ripples of hope" come from Robert Kennedy's great Ripple of Hope speech. "and now the bird is silent too" comes from the poem "Little Unwritten Book" by Charles Simic by way of a writers prompt where I was challenged to use that line (or a couple others) as the last line of a poem.