The Bed Sleeps with No One
Kathryn Starbuck
You smiled, slumped in your chair.
I was reclining. We talked but
not much was said. It was the day
before you died. I was so sad I wanted
to die with you.
The nearby bed
beckoned. The old bed was patient.
It knew it would get its chance.
It knew it was worth the wait and we
knew when to amble over to it,
chuckling at the perambulation
difficulties and near misses.
We said
to each other as we dropped our clothes—
trying not to fall over them—surely
we can manage it one last time.
It was, you said, worth dying for.
You were, as always, true to your word.
