we slept all
bundled up in
beds too tiny
meant for
one
limbed and
twiny under
breathy blanket
quilted by
your mom
in pokey dorm rooms
loud and
clambersome
we slept all
upside down
in princess bed
of brass ornate
and painted
ceramic of
flowers pink
and dainty
pulled and
rubbled out
from rummage
sale in
somebody's
front yard
enclosed by walls
of wood
a-seep with
rugged deep
grotesque koala
gnarl
we slept all
pulled out long
on foamy
futon
slats a-stick
in ribs and
jutting out
to wailing
whooping
siren sounds
and tv screams
and chopper
chops
and others'
midnight
lovers' fights
a-pound and
hot and grimy
we slept all
lofted up
and alcoved
cozy
high in castle
attic
nunnery
monastic
circled round
by clouds
and crows and
osprey
wings a-soar
wings a-flap
dizzying up our
weathered dreams
with
cat a-curled and
purring at
our tender feet
and farback
memories
swirling sweet
of bygone nights
of bygone plights
of sleeps
slept other
places
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
The bed on which you sleep is full of memories. The sounds that swirl around, the light that filters in, the lumpiness or firmness of its cradling round your body, and the scent of the person with whom you share it becomes inextricably linked to that bed itself.
A couple in love graduates from bed to bed as they progress through ever-changing life circumstances. And the memories of those beds contain the memories of all the happy, miserable, beautiful, and strugglesome times that befell them in between all those sleeps.
