I am the bed in the older boy’s room.
I am the bed in which he stayed up reading
those comic books about the heroes in
red, white, and blue.
Where he laughed on the phone with
his friends about something they said at lunch.
Where he cried that night when his father
yelled loud at his younger brother and
the older boy yelled back and he got hit.
I wanted to hug that boy; he wanted to disappear
and I wanted him to sink deep into the mattress
and I would protect him. I am the bed
where he brought the first girl, where they sat
when they kissed for the first time, the times after that.
When he sat up until everyone else was asleep here
then he got up and went out the window. I
missed the boy terribly. I wished I was the girl.
I wished he would come back and curl up with me
and sleep and not worry about secrets because between us
there were none.
But when he came back in the morning he was coming
down and he slept. He slept a long time. And really I
missed him I was afraid and I just wanted him to
wake up and call his friends or read a book
with the eyes he used to. Read me the red, white, and blue.
But he lied there. And once, he cried. I was so scared,
but I planted myself against the cold floor, and
I supported him, little boy I love you.
I am the bed where the boy got up
again in the night and went out. But he came back
before the night was over. And he smoked
the drug that teenage boys do when they’re scared.
And when he was done he put the evidence underneath
me and he trusted me. And he curled up small like
an infant, and I rocked him away.