Heavy Hold

The cast grips tight, a rough clasp

against soft skin beneath threadbare shirt sleeves.

It’s not just weight—it’s a silence,

a wall pressing the noise out.

Each movement feels clumsy,

the arm a dead branch,

a weight dragging flesh and bone

into stillness I don’t want.

The nurse’s hands were firm,

a final squeeze, a locked cage,

plaster cold as winter’s breath,

sending the thud of pain deeper than bone.

I learn to carry this shadow,

heavy and unyielding,

unmoved by my shifting wishes.