Leaving Them

I wonder if he sees
that your step is lighter
when you cross the threshold
of his front door and head out
to your car,
the same way
you used to feel when
your mother was sick and dying
and you’d leave the nursing home
after spending time with her,
all that death and despair
sitting on your shoulders
like a heavy winter coat,
not just your mother’s
slow slide into death
but everyone else’s misery
in the home clawing at you
to stay
so that you felt your force
being siphoned off a little at a time,
and you would leave
the building and take
big gulps of fresh air,
relieved to be back
among the living.