Poetry: The Dead Weight

3rd Place, 2022 National Poetry Contest for Social Workers, University of Iowa

THIRD PLACE

by Sara Shilling, 2021 graduate of University of North Carolina - Chapel Hill

The apartment held memories of a time before he left us.

A time when he was still alive. A time when we were still alive.

A fragile relic of how you and I were before he died.

Death is so cruel. Irreversible, unacceptable, final.

You began to sob the last time that we drove away from that haunted apartment,

uncontrolled and full-bodied,

in a way that you rarely see outside the confines of childhood.

You had to pull the car over. You were sobbing too much to drive.

I reached over for your hand, but you didn’t want mine.

It is a hot iron to your tender hand.

You want a type of comfort that I could never bring.

You and I left the haunted apartment, but we packed the dead weight with us.

I was naive to think we could leave such a large oversized item behind.

How does one carry the dead weight of another through a relationship meant for two?

I simply cannot.