the weight.

in the early years, you
could see a fragile shell
in the shape of a woman
as she passed by back-lit glass
you even fabricated her
bewildered and powerless
and maybe you wanted her
to be alone, but she would not

she carried your children, through it
and after it had ended
while you spun and vindicated
your sour emptiness
she was permanent, and she
saw you looking back
over your shoulder
at a woman who would not
come undone


© 8.22.12 heather brager