She grafts

She grafts
 
the nights pile on thick and quiet and heavy,
her body contorts to the shape of a cart horse,
she never whinnies or bolts,
taking off the day's clothes feels
like too much energy some days.
 
Sometimes naps become the thing,
the carrot dangling freely,  
the thing that takes the load
of five wash stacks,
four appointments,
three friends she hasn't seen
or checked that they're okay,
two books to read at bedtime
otherwise she's just a bad Mother -  
pressure only put there
by herself
and one expensive pill
specifically for a cat,  
bought shortly before
becoming pregnant.

She goes on steadily,
as if exhaustion wasn't a word
ever meant or permitted,
not just to women
but to many the earthbound human,
overworked and underpaid.