Weighted

Roped and bound 
I see myself 
strapped.

Rounded tightly 
by
Your opinions.
Your feelings.

Weighted.
Preparing for your outrage.
Weighted 
by the wrongs—

Mine,
Yours,
Those I know and those I don’t. 
Those I might commit if I 
move to the left
or
move to the right;
those I might commit if I don’t.

Weighted
by
The heavy hearts that carry 
more than their share.

Weighted
by
those that run their mouths 
and platform their careers 
on the oppression of their brothers.

Those that suffer loudly and brashly 
Those that suffer silently 
Those that suffer and don’t know 
Those that do not suffer and speak of nothing else.

Weighted
by
The pressure of climate change 
the pressure of my child’s future
my child’s present
The way your right-now, present-moment 
and my right-now, this today, 
and our future fates, are nothing and everything alike—
Are inextricably interconnected 
And undeniably divided.

I am weighted.
The way we are responsible to one another 
and cannot see past who is right 
and who is owed
and who has the power.

That those in power deny their power, 
cover their power, 
hide their power, 
wield their power, 
with the privileged, reckless regard 
only generations of abuse can birth.

Weighted by the silence. 
Weighted by the voices.
Anguished over your suffering, and yours, 
and riddled with my 
undereducated, not-enough feelings that say: 

What I think,
and what I want,
and how heavy this feels 
is maybe,
exactly 
the problem,
and the beginning of stripping back 
my white female opinions 
and taking a seat and 
Shutting the fuck up
to ask:

Who are you? 
What do you need?
How do I walk with you?

There is no amount of reading, 
giving, 
listening, 
to cover the wrong.

My wrong.

Generations of organized, 
systematic, 
horrific wrong.

I defer. 
I defer.

Who are you? 
What do you need? 
How do I walk with you? 

---

Poem: © 2020 Ashley Wolpert Miller
Photo credit: © Nvphoto / Adobe Stock