Water Weight

Out of the machine, still spinning its sad, wet song.

I pulled it free, a dark blue slab,

and it hit my hands with an unexpected

thud.

Cold, dense. Dead weight.

Water, clinging to every loop,

doubling the thread.

My arms dipped, just for a second.

A strange, heavy thing,

so much water held in cloth.

It dripped onto the linoleum, slow tears

from something that can't cry.

I just stood there, holding it.

Too heavy to toss, too wet to just leave.

A sodden moment, demanding attention.

Like some old grief, you have to lift it,

all of it, before you can dry.