The things i think about

The things I think about aren’t small

They’re heavy

A wheelbarrow of gravel that

I can’t push on my own because it

Has a wobbly wheel that could use air

Just like I could use air around my thoughts.

My father helps me move it,

Into the back yard and underneath the patio

To keep the water from puddling around the

Wooden posts so they don’t rot.

My mother helps me unload it,

Making little piles that I can manage

And spreading them so they take up the

Right

Amount

Of

Space

Just like I want my thoughts to.

Suddenly the things I think about are

Tiny hills in comparison to the

Mountain they once were a part of

And I can push the empty wheelbarrow

Toward the flowers.

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