Once, they guided our fate and our voyages
Told stories of epic heroes,
Assured us of our success or destruction
Once, we dreamed upon them
Hung our wishes upon their brilliant countenance
Are they still with us? Have they been dulled by neglect?
What happens to the old gods when humans no longer look up?
These arms are not filled with tangible things,
text books, bags of groceries, sleeping children.
But loneliness is heavier than babies.
Despite the weight of my cargo, piled high as shopping parcels, one on top of the other,
obstructing my view and teetering precariously,
I navigate the streets, wet and grey, cars passing without a second glance
Always at the wrong moment, melancholy and absence overflow my grasp,
To chase them down, I shift my encumberance from side to side,
desperate to retrieve the agony that has escaped me
Anyone could step in it that!
If they found it they’d Know it was mine, and what then? How careless they’d say. What an inconvenience. If you cannot carry your affliction properly, perhaps you ought to stay home. Out of sight, out of mind you know.
But what do they know about out of mind? Their boxes and bags are filled with food for the party, little Suzie is 5 now, “she’s gotten so big” they boast. The product of my last five years has also grown, I’d like to quip, but no one brags about the weight of their despair.
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