comfort
a bed knows it is beloved by the impression felt,
indents left by sound sleep. faithful feathers and coils
hugged by unconscious curves night after night—
trust embodied in the repose of one lain down,
pillowed-sighs contented in peace. there are no flowers
or candy. no quotes or cute comments. no song or speech
save the Sandman’s lullaby, or the last to say “good night.”
after hours of waiting, a bed knows it is beloved
when it feels gravity within its silent, regal arms—
the moment to love and just be loved in return.
First published in Routine, a Crack the Spine Press Anthology (2018)
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