The Debt of Kindness

I practiced the speech for three days in the mirror,

expecting the 'no' like a slap to the face.

I wanted the rejection to make everything clearer,

to give me a reason to finally leave this place.

But you just reached for the checkbook and signed,

no questions asked, no lecture on how I should live.

It’s a specific kind of cruelty, being reminded

how much more than me you are willing to give.

The blue ink of the 'Yes' is still shiny and wet

on the kitchen table where the mail always piles.

I’m standing here drowning in a different debt,

feeling the weight of your help for miles and miles.