This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order.

Sleeping Naked

Jan 23 2011

She slept naked

all her life.

Slipping smoothly

into fresh cotton sheets,

cool and crisp

against her skin.

Under blankets and comforters

that weigh down on her

snugly.

The old mattress

where it sags

and seems to cradle her.

The fat arthritic cat

planted on her feet,

grateful

for its animal heat

the reassuring weight.

Until it wanders off into the night,

the nocturnal hunter

of reflex, and lethal claw

who has never caught anything.

In late middle age

she’s gotten used to sleeping alone.

But she knows how it feels

to have him beside her -

a man’s salty smell

the roughness of his skin,

the body heat

that envelopes them both.

Her territorial man

who monopolized the real estate

and battled to a draw

over bedcovers.

Who kicked the slumbering cat

onto the floor

and snored like a rusty chain saw

through elbow jabs, and ear plugs.

And how his calloused hands

made her feel beautiful,

his desire

made her come alive.

On cold winter nights

she makes an exception

and dresses for bed.

A man’s pyjamas

with a long-sleeved top, and button crotch

she found in the back of the closet.

She remembers him, then

his touch, his scent.

The day he left,

taking just what he could carry.