The sheets held me womblike last night.
You thrashed beside me, ran down your dreams.
Our great-grandparents made love, gave birth, died, in one bed.
The death rate is low under fluorescent hospital lights.

You thrashed beside me, ran down your dreams.
We die, together, most nights. We awaken in the morning.
The death rate is low under fluorescent hospital lights.
But there is more than one type of death.

We die, together, most nights. We awaken in the morning.
Our great-grandparents made love, gave birth, died, in one bed.
But there is more than one type of death.
The sheets held me womblike last night.

Love ur site.

smoothing her hair
before crossing
back
back to the bed

furtively
she smoothed the sheets

and then
caressed by the early morning light

she left

urban, summery–full of hope
these sheets look slept-in but
surface appearances sometimes deceive

slept-in, rolled up in, or crumpled
from restless, too lonely nights?
now the bed is empty
oh, you know the pain’s not in sleeping alone
sometimes a bed to myself feels “just right”
empty bed and starless dark sky
like almost every other early dawn

I’m in the kitchen waiting for daybreak
expecting the surge of hope each new day reveals
as intricate colors unfold, often surprise

I won’t return to the rumpled bed ’til
its welcoming invitation
at end o’day
to pull the quilt over the covers
around my shoulders and wait again for
dreams I’ll dare make true this time

http://thisfarbyfaith.blogspot.com/2007/09/rumpled-sheets.html

As I lie
and reflect on the light of the world,
I am thankful
for the little things
in life
even rumpled sheets
that capture the wonder
of the light of the world!

Just enough chaos, inviting, calls me…
Naptime comes too seldom.
Constrained by other’s expectations
(and hospital corners)
I long for my own rumpled bed.

deb