The Weight of Paper

The mail slot clattered this morning,

a small avalanche.

Stack of white envelopes,

each one a tiny brick.

The edge of the utility bill,

sharp against my thumb,

a specific kind of texture,

promising numbers and dates.

It's not just the money, not really.

It's the sorting, the filing,

the remembering, the calling.

Each sheet of paper

has its own gravitational pull.

And the stack never shrinks.

It just shifts its weight around.