The Brightest Star in the Clearest Sky

An exercise in apology and gratitude, and maybe forgiveness and atonement.

Back in October 2022, I published two poems on Most Likely No Problem. 

The first was entitled ‘Will You Please Allow Me to Apologize, Please?’ 

Its companion was ‘Will You Please Allow Me to Share Gratitude, Please?’

Each piece was subtitled “These are true statements, by and large unsaid, to people who are important to me.” 

And indeed, that’s exactly what they are. 

These two pieces got a fair bit of traction (if not ‘likes’ lol) when I first shared them on MLNP, and led to some good, heavy and important conversations. A few folks asked, “How did you write this?” That question was very often followed by: “And why?”

More on that in a minute.

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Bird recently suggested I should submit some MLNP work for publication, and amazingly ‘Will You Please Allow Me to Apologize, Please?’ was picked up by Cutleaf Journal (published by Eastover Press). WYPAMtAP? is featured in the journal’s March 2024 flash nonfiction issue, along with works by Kory Wells and Jennifer D. Munro—each of which is shockingly good. 

Check it all out here.

(These works will also be included in Cutleaf’s printed anthology later this year.)

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So how did I write these things? 

In short, the whole notion occurred to me on a run. (As usual.)

I found myself thinking of all that goes unsaid in our lives, even to those who have been and are most important to us—family members, friends, lovers, co-workers, co-volunteers, bandmates. I was thinking of what had gone unsaid, and why—which often, was simply because the time to say it had never arrived, or the chance to say it had passed, or I simply lacked the courage, I lacked the wherewithal, or because the relationship had ended or changed for the myriad reasons that relationships with family members, friends, lovers, co-workers, co-volunteers and bandmates end or change. 

I thought it might be interesting to document these unsaid statements. (Even if they remained unsaid, they would, at least, no longer be unwritten.)

So, I made a very rudimentary spreadsheet. 

The spreadsheet had three columns: 

• Column A: Name

• Column B: Will you please accept this apology?

• Column C: Will you please accept this gratitude?

In Column A, I started listing folks who have been important to me in my life. The list eventually grew to 91 people, ranging from individuals who I see every day or every week, to those I haven’t seen in 25 years or more. 

Then I moved to Column B, and for those 91 people I wrote down an apology that I have never and may never deliver to them—for 91 reasons, each as valid as the next. 

Finally, I moved to Column C, and complemented those apologies with a statement of gratitude for the deep meaningfulness that each of those people have played in my life. (I seek to be grateful every day, and am hopeful that I’ve delivered at least some of this thankfulness over the years. But it’s unlikely I’d ever done so so clearly and succinctly.)

As I reviewed that spreadsheet, it started to reveal itself as an opportunity for creativity, the chance to make something. 

My initial idea was that I would delete Column A (the names), and publish the other two columns verbatim. And, these lists would be in order—so, the apologies in Column B would sync with the gratitudes in Column C.

Very often, each of those two statement pairs told a two-sentence story. 

But as I edited the work in that format, it started to feel a bit cumbersome and unruly. And also, redundant: I’ve made more than one mistake more than one time, which resulted in similar apologies, and I’ve been blessed to be surrounded with people of such character that several of my gratitudes became repetitive as well. 

So, I separated the lists into individual documents.

Then, I randomized their order. 

And finally, I started cutting—trying to eliminate the duplicative, and focus on the distinctive. 

My lists of 91 were winnowed down by a third, to 62 statements each. 

I went back through, and refined the words, sentence by sentence. I wanted the statements to be crisp. I wanted them to be clear. 

The lists—which I now called poems—were no longer synced in order. But they still very much told a story, in and of themselves.

As time went on—and with Column A (names) now long gone—I found I could no longer identify who the apology was to, who the gratitude was for. My dad, or my daughter? A former bandmate, or a current coworker? A client, or a mentor?

Reading them today, 18 months later, I can’t tell you a thing about the origin of each statement without referencing the original spreadsheet, and even then, the words have changed and the meanings have evolved. 

It’s even possible to perceive the lists of apologies and gratitudes as directed to a single person—telling a single story—which is how Cutleaf presented the work. 

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So, back to those conversations in October 2022, when I first posted these pieces. 

What’s above is the how. 

But why? (Especially when I didn’t (don’t) plan to share these statements individually or with any specificity?)

Yes, the writing experience brought me to my knees.

Yes, I wept. 

And yes, it was pure catharsis—a release, a relief. 

Even undelivered, these statements, statements of such remorse but also of such appreciation, flowed through and out of me like river water and wild flowers, like salt and protein, lipids and electrolytes. 

The feelings I felt were scarce, and they were pure.

I found myself purged, and—even if briefly—I found myself weightless.

That’s why.  

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And now, I invite you to do it, too. 

Some friends and I recently created a series of pantoum poems based on a format shared on Pádraig Ó Tuama’s Poetry Unbound substack. It was great fun, and led to some deep, excellent work from each person. (Mine—more fun than deep or excellent—is here.)

Creating within a framework can be a great way to get ideas moving quickly. And then, you break the framework with intentionality. Make it your own. 

So. Are you interested in creating your own Apologies & Gratitudes piece?

Let’s do it.

To lessen the burden of setting up a file, I made a template for you to start with: MLNP Apologies & Gratitudes Framework

(Remember, if you start with this template, first save your own copy of it.)

Again, the steps I took were:

1. Fill out the spreadsheet—make a list of the names of individuals who are or were most important to you. 

2. Write an apology to each person.

3. Write a gratitude to each person. 

4. Delete the name column. (Maybe you’ll want to make another copy or “save-as” at this point, so you can reference your initial work (with names) later.)

5. Separate the apologies and gratitudes into their own documents. 

6. Edit, delete, refine and reorder the lists; search for an order that creates an emotional arc, that tells a story.

Whether you publish or share your lists or not, I think you’ll find this to be a uniquely moving experience; one unlike any other. 

Take your time.
Stay hydrated.
And let me know how it goes. 

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I should note, again, that my original poems’ titles were a play on Raymond Carver’s short-story collection, ‘Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?,’ which was a book of great influence in my life. 

The artwork I shared in the original posts—now shared again below—is from the production archive of ‘His Bathrobe Stuffed with Notes,’ featuring illustrations by Carver. 

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Please consider supporting Cutleaf and Eastover Press through a book or merch purchase, and continue upholding independent artists and publishers. 

Thanks, as ever, for your time.

MK

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