Heavy Hands

Bills pile like stones on the kitchen table,

pressed down heavy with time’s slow shove.

Unopened envelopes that edge like knives,

shadows stretching with the weight of love.

Shoebox corners frayed, taped with old hope,

footsteps thud on worn linoleum tiles.

Every task a chain link, cold and taut,

days folded tight in unclaimed miles.

The clock ticks louder inside my chest,

a relentless drum with no reprieve.

The weight of hands that hold too much,

a quiet burden I can’t leave.