Everything Wants to Land

She didn't trip, she just became too tired

to hold the weight against the cooling air.

The plastic handles snapped, as if conspired,

and let the oranges scatter everywhere.

The milk hit the asphalt with a heavy thud,

a gallon bag that sagged but didn't leak.

She stood there in the grit and evening mud,

looking suddenly, profoundly weak.

Her shoulders sloped down toward the yellow line,

drawn to the center of the turning earth.

I felt the pull inside this chest of mine,

the price we pay for everything we're worth.