Heavy Math

The nurse slid the weights with a clinical clack

until the metal bar floated in space.

I wanted to take every pound of it back,

but the number was fixed like a slap to the face.

It’s just a measurement, a static amount,

of gravity pulling my bones to the floor.

But I’m standing there keeping a jagged account

of everything I shouldn't want to be anymore.

At night in the bathroom, the red digital glow

burns through the dark from the tile near the tub.

It’s a tally of secrets I don't want to know,

and a mark that no amount of scrubbing can rub.