Laden

I wish that lady
with no bags dangling
at the end of her arms
would get
out of my way.
Can’t she see I’m
laden with burdens?

Briefcase and lunchbag and purse,
a suitcase’s work from the weekend?
I won’t be able
to get where I’m going
if I drop everything
because she’s in front of me,
slowing me down.

If she
would just
look over her shoulder,
then she would see that
she’s got to move to the side.

As I pass her,
I shoot a look
over my shoulder
at her face,
disbelieving that someone
so unladen
could be moving
so slowly.

But her face is carven,
etched deep by
some unspoken grief
her smile smothered
by some invisible
weight.
She’s laden, too.

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8 thoughts on “Laden

  1. Irene

    The next time you’re held up say, “Pardon me, may I pass, please?” Then you will still see her grief struck face and feel bad about that, but at least you gave it a try. It’s not for us to figure out all the hurt that’s carried around by strangers during these stress filled holidays. Consumerism creates the conditions, courtesy humanizes us. Even her.

    Irenes last blog post..To the vet again…

    Reply
  2. Al

    This poem is truly beautiful. It reminds me to stop and think at least twice before getting irritated with others. Especially in this season of family and friends, I must remember that there are those who have neither and their lives may not be looking up…

    Thank you.

    Als last blog post..go vegan, save a turkey

    Reply

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