That Kind of Heaviness

This morning, a heaviness to everything.

Even the crow is having trouble

lifting the air above its wings. The light

is heavy,the wind in the branches,the

silence between one thought and the next.

It is the feeling that follows

a long afternoon sleep in a strange house,

remember as a child, every object

solid and unfamiliar,holding you there,

alone and not quite human. Watching

the wings of the crow lift and fall,

I think of you,wonder if you sleep

long into the afternoon in another’s bed.

I remember your story about the gopher

you shot and shot with a BB gun,

you cold and young,with no regrets.

The gopher pumped so full of pellets

it couldn’t run,but dragged its belly

across the grass. That kind of heaviness.

The one the heart knows, its small gut

full of lead.