Poem*

When we were young
We had so much time to worry,
To complain. We had no idea
It was a gift, not a god-given
Right. Back then,
We would cry over everything:
A split lip, a misunderstanding,
a toothache.
And someone was always
There to answer to it,
Catch us in their arms and say
Go ahead.
Now, there is no time,
Not even to cry.
I thought about it today,
I thought,
I’m just going to break down.
But then I caught myself
Like a word in the throat
stuck in the mucus.
There is no time for this, I knew.
No one pays you to cry.
But maybe later, was the hope,
Maybe in the car, when I am alone again,
Or perhaps the second
shower before
I have to work again.
But then, I knew, the feelings could be gone,
Like a story you meant
To tell someone
Before they got on their train to go again.
So I kept working,
Felt my face get hot
With a sadness
there would be no time
To let out, recognize.


...
(k)

*Inspired by (a)