When I die, when my heart is weighed against the
feather of justice, when I am embalmed and my
brain is pulled out through my nose, when the
autopsy technicians say “what a shame” before going
on with their day, will the weight of everyone else’s
troubles and pain and strife that I carry with me,
that pumps through my capillaries and arteries, be
counted against me? Will my heart, heavy with
empathy, break the scale, the feather no match for
such a naive woman, one who carried their pain
more carefully than their own?

Whose heart will my
worries weigh down?