We all bear the great weight
of unseen somethings.

For you, one hand hovering over
the avocados, carrying the great grief

of how could that happen?
that wasn’t supposed to happen.

For her, pushing the dense
boulder of a shopping cart

seemingly uphill, filled with
if only, if only, if only.

For him, picking up the quart
of milk, then the remembering,

the putting it back of how
could you leave me like this?

For me, filling a bag with
loose-leaf tenderness,

along with a handful
of softheartedness,

and leaving it right there
for you, for her, for him,

to lighten the heaviness
of the invisibles we tote,

everywhere we go.