I didn't sit down I fell

I didn't sit down, I fell.

The mattress caught me mid-collapse,

my spine registering each hour

like a tally mark pressed into bone,

and I could feel each vertebra

settling into the give of the bed,

finding its place in the softness,

and my shoulders—God, my shoulders—

carried the weight of eleven hours

like I'd been holding something

the whole time, someone's problem,

the fluorescent brightness of the stockroom,

the customer who couldn't find

what she was looking for and made it

my fault, and I held it, held it all,

held the register, the smile,

the ache that started at three

and turned into something else by eight.

Now I'm lying here and my body

is still holding. The stiffness won't leave.

My spine remembers standing longer

than my mind will ever forget.