Beds I Have Slept In

I suppose before memory, I slept in a dresser drawer. The safest bed while storms raged was my mother’s. Then came the first bed of sex, moonlit and snowy, the bed of marriage, strange beds and a bed too large for one.

I gaze through the lacy windows at the red bird in the new snow and think of my death bed. Is it the final slumber or just a napping spot until my lovers find me again sleeping in a dresser drawer?

Emily Florence

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