Small things: not returning a phone call right away,
not offering early enough to set tables
at the spaghetti feed for the homeless,
not filling enough gift bags because she had to go.

Apologies in high frequency —
grandmother to mother to sisters to me
and most often not necessary
like giving a ticket to a jaywalker.

Their husbands sleep, sorting only
the significant, clear-cut offenses in their dreams.
The sooner they solve a problem
the sooner they get a stiff drink.

Apologies in casual conversation
over chicken salad: Could have been nicer,
more agreeable, offered help earlier.
A reflex, her sorry is a blinking eye,

a hand pulled away from the fire.
Murmuring agreements over a pinch of salt:
I could have, I felt bad I didn’t, next time I will.
Are they accessories like a scarf or a pair of earrings

worn daily? Maybe they are the period at the end
of a sentence – habitual, added naturally.
Or worse, not her fault or error and yet
to avoid discomfort, she still says sorry.