Now Sleep in It

Oct 24 2015

All the beds you made

in a lifetime of sleep,

all the empty beds

unmade, unclean.

Together
or unaccompanied.

Covers tossed back

in a rumpled heap.

The depression left

the latent heat.

She sleeps in a fetal curve,

rounded back

knees clasped

arms tightly wrapped,

like an open bracket

closed.

Her body shudders

with each beat of the heart

her breathing sounds submerged.

If only she would turn this way,

perfect fists clenched

transparent skin

sharply angled bones.

Eyeing the ceiling.

the wall

her back.

The tyrannical clock’s

ghost-green light

that’s spilling time like sand.

Is there meaning

in making a bed,

only to have it undone

again and again?

An even number

and you died bravely

or young;

affairs unsettled, room untouched.

Odd, and it was a peaceful death

in your very own bed.

Or hard, fearful, spent.

Soiled sheets stripped

mattress, as is, left.

Throw open the covers

of the unmade bed

and leave it free to breathe.

The purification of light

and cold astringent air.

An empty bed

that was slept in well

reminds me of a messy house;

full of life

even when no one's home.

More of a stream-of-consciousness poem, instead of my usual more logical sequential approach. So my comments are also a little disjointed.

The title's unspoken first line: "You made your bed, ...".

Just as T.S. Eliot counted out coffee spoons, I'm counting out life in the daily making of beds.

I was told it was healthier to leave your bed unmade: because making it traps all the moisture from sleep, promoting mould. Let it breathe, as the poem says.

I was reading an article about the prevalence (surprisingly high; maybe 40%) of couples who sleep apart: a sensible arrangement for people with very different sleep needs and habits, but apparently a shameful secret because of what loving couples fear others might think. There is sleeping together. There is sleeping alone. And then there is sleeping with someone you've grown apart. (And anyway, what has sleep to do with sex? Why should "sleeping together" be a polite euphemism for sex? And even more, why should healthy sex call for a euphemism in the first place??)

I know an unmade bed looks sloppy, lazy, undisciplined. But I think of those soulless Home Beautiful photo-spreads of showpiece houses -- where everything is perfect, uncluttered, uninhabited -- and contrast that with the warmth of a lived-in home, with its scattered toys, and sat-on furniture; its fingerprints, and sink of dirty dishes.