Today, I have nothing to give.
my soul's back is weak.
eyes narrow at any source
of light.

I have carried my whole life.
now I can barely support the weight
of my own intentions.
today, I am the child inside that

every grown man hides.
my hands feel small, and I drown
in my workman's clothes.
even light things seem heavy.

today, I praise the fact that I have
warm arms to lean my head into.
soft lips against my forehead.
soft fingers tracing the lines

of my face. today, I will reap the
reward for all my years of hard
work. all the times I stood up like
the only adult in a room full of

grown-ups. today I allow myself
weakness. softness. inactivity.
today I'll let the man sleep, so the
boy can come out. and cry.