We have no concept of the weight we are under

The earthy anvil, the dense pressure

All days run together

We sit in a chair behind the makings of Life, the outpouring

With no levers

No ability to change, no strength to oppose

No direction to go

Just words and phrases, older than trees and stones

No way to use them

No way to say we’re done, no place to gather our grief

The complete un-doing has been long built

Spread so far and thin it vanishes to your eye

Pushes you up or down

Further and further from the only way back

Further from the fortitude of all things

Further from your dad and daughter

Scattering a person to bits

Manufacturing a divide so great, so vast

Pushing you into anomalous order

Order you accept willingly because nothing makes sense

You need time

You need everything back

You’ve stretched to the sun and the stars and the moon

But you can’t understand

You can’t see, you can’t feel

Your neighbor and your husband and your friend and your foe

All forgot who you are

The weight of misunderstanding sits thick on you

So arduous, oppressive

You wear it without knowing

You accept it without question

You feel it without discernment

You give yourself over to it and it asks you to sit in a chair behind the door

The chair with no levers

The seat where time slips away

Where days run together and you feel a stranger to everything