for the longest time
i never understood how any human being,
sound of mind,
could offer up their bed to any other person.

a dog, sure.
even a docile cat,
but another individual
taking up the space of your
own personal sleeping quarters
seemed preposturous to me,
especially as a child.

i thought that i would always sleep alone,
spread out between my own sheets,
content to know that a snore or moan,
or puddle of drool would never be seen or heard
by anyone within my walls.

of course, that's a preposturous and juvenile assertion.
there comes a point that any red-blooded body
enjoys being pressed against another in a comforted sleep.
ultimately, it is what you desire.

and i learned how to share my bed, to enjoy it being inhabited.

you get used to feet tht never line up in the right place,
that tend to rub up against yours with sharp toe-nails
scratching the boney side of your heel in a jerky shift.

you get used to the blanket being tugged
every which way and mostly off of your own body
in a sleepily selfish ambition for warmth.

you get used to the throaty gurgles
and hiccups and shallow mouth noises of
your unconscious sleeping mate,
whose silly slurps and swallows
become your lullabyes.

you get used to waking with an arm over your face
a leg over your waist, a hand under your tit
or below your belly.

you get used to being tugged along in rotations
so that you're always facing the same direction
and you find yourself, throughout the night
playing the roles of big spoon and little spoon intermittently.

you get used to the smiles or mumbled words,
the incoherent phrases of dreams that shake the eye-lids of
your nestled lover who stirs and exhales fervently.

you even get used to the musty breath of morning
as it breathes into your own mouth, a greeting
of refreshed alertness that often preempts an early snuggle.

what you do not get used to
is finding your bed empty again.
waiting for it to be filled by the imprint
of a familar body that does not come.
the rolling and rolling around with room to sprawl
knowing that if you were not alone,
you would be cribbed by a long arm,
tucking you into a warm body.

what you do not get used to
is waking up alone, without a breathy
'mornin' to soothe you from your slumber
and so you sleep in late, and don't eat breakfast.

what they never prepare you for,
what you never get used to,
is finding out that he who used to sleep
inside the contours of your mattress now
finds himself wresting his exaustion
in beds that aren't yours.

07/29/2007

Posted on 07/29/2007
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer