Deadweight

He didn't ask for help,

just stood there staring at the radiator

until his breathing got heavy.

We gripped the iron ribs,

our knuckles turning the color of bone.

I watched his jaw lock,

the way he refused to admit

the floor was winning.

When we finally let go,

my palms were mapped with red lines,

deep canyons carved by the weight

of something we both had to carry

without making a sound.