Unloaded
A poem on carrying a burden
He couldn’t do it anymore:
carry this bag of bones not quite shapeless enough
to cast away as completely inhuman,
not nearly amorphous enough to lose the identity
that elicited sympathy sucked out like air
through the door that was her mouth—
a creaking jaw whose opening always
hinged on the verge of crying out
Though muted, its character still had enough structure
to jut into him as he bore it,
while its form was still feminine enough to comfort him
after a long day of carrying it over his shoulder
He appreciated the softness of flesh,
but how he wished she were a paper sack,
light to lift and carrying goods,
like the ones that carried his whiskey
But it poured no offerings
Want is all that spilled from its lip,
a burden asking him to lift it higher and higher,
one hundred pounds of need
He wished she were a paper sack:
something inconsequential
and allowed to be lost
after the drink was drank
or the fruit it contained turned to rot
Dizzy, he breathed into it and breathed out
How he wished she were a paper sack
he could ball up and crumple in his fist
He tried to compress it into something
he could fit into his palm and throw away
Then he heard the sound of crushed bones
clanking in the bag like broken China
Thoroughly contained,
it was one last mess
he wouldn’t have to clean up
