Weight
- Jaqueline Gamache
- Jun 14, 2020
- 1 min read
gravity tells us that in order to rise
a heavier payload must be offered in toil
history tells us they will only remember you
if your name is either something like rockefeller, windsor,
or else you’re screwed, unless (wait, an alternative)
if you want, and can grin and bear it
there is one way offered out
take on
stone after stone
cross after cross
task after task
and drag them if you must,
through high hell or stormy weather
sacrifice, labor, and strive
and all of your efforts you will make the chores worthwhile
and the great will praise your name
and you will become immortal in song
but this is not one of your hymns yet and
stones crush and crosses bore into flesh
and “i will work harder” as a horse’s brazen answer to
heavy load against the whip of empty legacy
can collapse, break, cripple
kill
run out to meet a great destiny and it springs from the
shadows
clamps its jaws around your neck until you’re
limp, then drags you off into the brush
you know now why
they go on endlessly about
joan jesus luther any number of martyrs
whose price paid bought them a permanent part on
the world’s stage
but for all foretold glory and for all foretold wishes
even wanting it all your life find yourself when
lowered to the ground, smothered by the weight
of hundreds of deeds done for a brother mother or other,
greed and envy the one-lived-hundred with
not a crik in her back who will live to see ten more
than you
but like giles’ children will promise you
it’s the way to go.
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