A child finds a rock and makes it theirs
for a moment, they think they own it
until they find a leaf.

When did we decide to hold onto our rocks, not to empty the lint from the dryer, that the sidewalk chalk shouldn’t have gotten washed away by the rain, when did we decide to carry so many groceries that the bags burst, overflowing inboxes, graveyards.

We shower, but we don’t bathe
We eat, but we don’t digest
We sleep, but we don’t rest
We march all day and night with our wheelbarrows
We could just let go
But we don’t.