07/15/2025
The world is heavy
the weight too much
for our tender hands to hold
Our hearts feel the constricting pressure
bearing our personal cries
and the cries of our neighbors
It’s not you
it’s not me
it’s us.
Children watch their parents
bent over in the fields,
smiling with grit
sweat on their courageous brows,
offering bowls of fruit
and salad on our tables,
tending to our gardens and grass
moving from one job to another.
after my keys click
and the office doors are locked,
he smiles and says, “it’s okay?”
I smile and say, “Yes, gracias, thank you.”
the hum of the vacuum is what I hear
as I tiredly walk away under the moonlight.
and then,
the children wait for parents
who never return home
the men in masks whisked them away, those criminals who worked two jobs
with loving, tired and worn hands
just trying to make end meet.
I’m at the grocery store,
buying strawberries
with prices bulging at the seams.
the world is heavy.
it’s not you,
it’s not me,
it’s us.
and then the next day
there’s flooding
tragedy gripping
the heartbreak rings through the ears
of every caring soul in our nation.
wordless pain
this trauma brings us to weep
for the parents
whose grief is now insurmountable
a terror too big to speak
the world is heavy.
it’s not you
it’s not me
it’s us.
we only have each other.
If we only look to the right
or to the left,
we won’t see clearly—
our neighbor
the scale is breaking—
bent too far,
too far to either side
we can’t see each other,
we can’t feel each other’s hearts.
There is a narrow,
middle way…
love one another.
who is my neighbor?
the world is heavy.
it’s not you,
it’s not me,
it’s us.
Annie 🤍
