Heavy

 

Heavy...

I open eyes 

to a purring cat on my hip, sharp and determined claws

kneading biscuits in the abundant flesh that has become my body.

Familiar and sluggish twins ...also greet me: Weight on chest...and mind, 

a dark and much too pregnant cloud that refuses to open and give birth.

I wake up.

I slip from the bed.

Limbs heavy...

sandbags of their pain weigh down one aching foot

while the arms of their still unanswered cries for help wrap around the other calf

I stand.

I step down.

The floor gritty beneath my feet

The weight of  the world's suffering, presses me down into the morning.

 Toes and tendons, misshaped and deformed from the weight they have carried 

 curl forward into claws, the accepting resistance that has become a mother's norm.

I ground without grounding.

I do my best to uncurl.

Creaks and cracks, like a spoon through a bowl of Rice Crispies, 

poorly orchestrated musical notes escape from joints.

Bone against bone, hard thing rubbing against hard thing

body and life ...lacking moisture, softness, the precious lubrication of joy .

I straighten.

 I stretch

Charlie horses ...teasing....tormenting...twisting, grabbing at muscles,

tie aging sinew into knots as limbs are lengthened

I do not stamp their fire out.

The cramping, another whispered Hail Mary 

added to a penance I have long ago  kneeled to accept.

I know I must pay for all I have done and all I have failed to do

...whatever that may be. I don't know anymore.

I accept the pain.

I try to move.

Shoulders curl forward....gravity...too much for them to carry.

It seems I cannot move past it, into this dash of life I have been given.

Only the draft ...the innocent emptiness this hollow connection provides

and the wind of his breath behind me, pushing through the congested cough

I know too well

creates lift under my arms. Shoulders move to ears.

I am propelled like one of the tumbleweed-sized furballs on the floor

 over the mound of his dirty socks that grow and multiply beneath me,

and through the door.

I tumble farther away.

I move into another room, another day.

Weight on chest, hard to breathe; Weight on mind, hard to think clearly

Gravity’s pawn.  Like a shuffleboard puck I am slid from one task to another.

Against the force above me, I lift one arm and then the other to do what must be done.

Flush toilets, run hands under taps, fill bowls, make coffee

sit to write something of meaning...ignore empty page

bring cup to lips, robotically use fingers to answer calls for help, never ending calls for help.

Write 2000 words ...depthless, superficial words like the "good morning" I offer.

Put away dishes, sweep the floors...well at least pick up broom

tapping, tapping, tapping fill the remaining pages of this chapter with something...anything...nothing

Arms tremble under the weight of hope and expectation the morning light from window offers.

Its reality burns the eyes. I look away.

I slip into any distraction I can find.

I scroll

Heavy. Caught under gravity’s relentless palms 

I shuffle from one senseless activity to another,

From one distant smiling face to another, 

from one more thing I do not need to buy to another,  

from Simon Cowell's surprised look to their leaders orange-faced lies

Moving thumbs, going nowhere, doing nothing of value 

for a body and soul that stopped crying to be heard.

I am stuck.

 

I sigh

Clocks ticking impatiently in background, 

coughs and empty words breaking the silence

of meaningless watching, of mindless searching, 

a comfortable trap that takes over the day

numbing my weighted heart, veiling my clouded mind.

I sigh again

I watch as time passes.

Morning light becomes dusk. When dark enough, I make my way back to bed

Body now heavier, stiffer, more drained of life than it was in the morning light.

Head down on pillow...waiting ...for cat with desperate claws to remind this body,

once again that it can feel something.

Weight on chest. Mind, heavy with a rain that will not come.

I close my eyes.

© Dale-Lyn (Pen) July, 2026

Okay crazy lady, why don't you tell us what you really feel?  :)

Day after: I wrote this yesterday after listening to Mayim Baliak's podcast with a guest who was talking about distraction, among other things, and was inspired enough to write  a poem about scrolling. I didn't think it was supposed to be about this "me" at the time I was writing it. I really do not scroll that often...infact, most days I do not even know where my phone is... but I have on the rare occassion spent all day doing so. Still, this poem didn't feel"honest" to me. Today, I realize at the time I was writing, that I was also feeling pretty stuck and wanted to explore and express "what I really felt." So I reread the quickly written poem and found myself personalizing it and revamping it to do what the muse inside me really wanted to do with this poem....express herself honestly ...to express what it is like to feel "stuck"as a writer and as a person. This sense of stuckness can indeed lead to mindless activity like scrolling. I do believe we need to be honest with ourselves about what is going on inside us if we want to truly heal. I don't think I feel this way everyday but I definitely do some days. Being willing to recognize and sit with that experience is important. That is the amazing thing about poetry...it makes us honest.  Cra cra , I know :) ...but honest. 

All is well.

Inspired by: 

Mayim Bialik (August ?, 2025) # 1 Reason for Anxiety, Depression, and ADHD: How to Fix Your Focus and Your Mental Health    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dYb62PBK4k