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For a friend in program who reminded me that guilt (RE: realization of and accountability for ones actions) isn't the same as the terribly painful shame.
Some tears taste
like pure, clear spring water,
despite the salt,
and despite the fact that you know
they’re your fault,
they do not sting
of pinching shame.
You know your wrongs;
you know their names.
They open your heart
to a little pool,
a glassy pond,
and a dropp of you
falls on the water,
your pristine rain,
washes clear the silt
on the surface,
washes clear the prickly pain.
Marc Mannheimer
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E-mail this poem to e friend