It collapses
every night
we do not begrudge gravity
as it pulls the covers
over us
our arms and minds
are tired propping up
the story that
our mortgage ancestry health disc brakes groceries
counts for something
no
sleep is the real answer
a break from the monologue
but then there is daylight’s inertia
and the ken that
we must lift it up
again
we raise our arms
and the canvas goes over our heads
protecting us
from fear of failure invisibility arthritis
and it gives us
solace and meaning and comfort
though
heavy perhaps we bear it lighter than a can of peas
Paul Smith writes poetry & fiction. He lives in Skokie, Illinois with his wife Flavia. Sometimes he performs poetry at an open mic in Chicago. He believes that brevity is the soul of something he read about once, and whatever that something is or was, it should be cut in half immediately.