The bed
The bed was cold now.
“It was lovely when he would sleep here,” thought the bed.
But the bed was cold now.
Its covers once wrapped around him.
Their warmth fused,
blended,
unified,
combined,
became one.
But the bed was cold now.
He kept its pillows fluffed,
and cleaned its sheets.
Though over time stains from tears
began to form.
The kind of stains that any bleach couldn’t fix.
We tried Mama’s secret trick-
time.
But even that didn’t seem to work
because he and the bed remembered where the stains were.
And then he wouldn’t sleep on that side,
or this side was too stiff.
It was the same bed,
but now the bed was cold.
It remembered those long nights-
when the trees let go of their leaves,
and the grass was no longer visible
under sheets of white.
And he too was under sheets of white,
the bed’s.
But now the bed was cold.
Until the next he came along,
and it happened all over again until
the bed was cold.
