Care Bodies

for my fellow nurses and carers, I know you are tired, too

we carry

other people’s weight

like water in our arms—

slopping over the edges,

seeping into our own skin.

hands ache

from lifting,

but still reach

for the next body,

the next breath,

the next fragile bone

to keep from breaking.

our backs curve

into scaffolding,

our spines learn

the language of strain.

sometimes

I forget my body

isn’t theirs.

that my pulse

still beats separately,

that my ribs

still hold me in.

but then,

in the quiet between shifts,

I feel the ghost-touch—

every hand I’ve held,

every brow I’ve cooled,

every body

that has leaned into mine,

trusting I won’t let them fall.

we are not saints.

we are not machines.

we are care bodies,

stitched together

by calluses, grief,

and the softest kind of strength.