deepundergroundpoetry.com
Bedding
Bedding
I curl my body into yours,
while you're sleeping,
more ghost than animal,
more animal than woman,
and in the peace,
sliced only by wind
and chilled sheet rain
I pretend I'm not crumpled,
that the city hasn't eaten me,
mind and guts and muscle,
that I have the will to stand,
when you wake,
when you leave,
when you pad across the dull floor,
to brush your teeth or find your keys,
when the room is filled with isolation,
as my own has been for days.
I pretend I might
find the will to write those letters,
or file those reports,
or feed myself,
or bathe myself,
or attend all those appointments,
or turn up on time,
or check in on those who need me,
or brush my hair,
or smile at others,
or even sing for pleasure -
that none of these things break me
into baskets full of kindling.
I don't take kindly to rising anymore,
nor being asked to rise,
nor the idea, as if a whistle through the ear,
how I wish I was the duvet you returned to,
quiet, comforting,
taking nothing,
giving warmth,
so reliably,
so expectedly,
never changing,
quite completely
still.
I curl my body into yours,
while you're sleeping,
more ghost than animal,
more animal than woman,
and in the peace,
sliced only by wind
and chilled sheet rain
I pretend I'm not crumpled,
that the city hasn't eaten me,
mind and guts and muscle,
that I have the will to stand,
when you wake,
when you leave,
when you pad across the dull floor,
to brush your teeth or find your keys,
when the room is filled with isolation,
as my own has been for days.
I pretend I might
find the will to write those letters,
or file those reports,
or feed myself,
or bathe myself,
or attend all those appointments,
or turn up on time,
or check in on those who need me,
or brush my hair,
or smile at others,
or even sing for pleasure -
that none of these things break me
into baskets full of kindling.
I don't take kindly to rising anymore,
nor being asked to rise,
nor the idea, as if a whistle through the ear,
how I wish I was the duvet you returned to,
quiet, comforting,
taking nothing,
giving warmth,
so reliably,
so expectedly,
never changing,
quite completely
still.
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