Making the Bed

I made the bed this rainy and bleak Sunday, Struggling to iron out the creases on the duvet, Thinking all the while about straightening my life, Then, the stains of semen and sweat surfaced. Stark images flashed---dark and unforgiving of lost loves in that desert when time no longer was, in that black abyss of nightmares and tears of a bygone age. But the bed was made, the linen clean and all in order, No more bad dreams or morbid memory, Only that antiseptic order, banning all disorder. But when will that bed be buried again in the filth of falsity? Raj Napal Toronto March 5, 2016