I thought I understood the concept
of putting things down.
I would feel them grow in weight.
But perhaps our attempts at lifting things off
might only just shift them in place.
That for a while we walk
heads held high
until the new muscle quavers and
a burden familiar making itself known
with a weight we’re not meant to assume.
Try taking responsibility off someone not ready
whose role is pain-stakenly refined.
But there comes a day
when the ache is too great
and the muscle disabled
A back is not made to be bent out of shape
by a yoke designed for our best.
Freedom, a gift
for those who might recognise it
as living no life
but our own.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry