Mother Confessor

I am neither flattered nor flustered
by the arcane recognition thrown
my way of representing a sympathetic
ear to which all feel free to express
their sorrows and concerns. Why me?

Do I, without my knowledge or
consent telegraph such services; to
listen patiently and in so doing provide
a balm of ease to those in need?

My calm and unjudgemental demeanor
signals, I believe, a casually objective
world view; how have I become in
maturity such a paragon of wisdom,
a non-denominational Mother Confessor?

How is it that those perfectly unknown
to me instantaneously feel compelled to
burden me with the agony of their
unspeakably tragic tribulations?

More to the point, how is it that they
find, in the act of compelling my quiet
attention, transferring their angst to me,
needed redemption for themselves?