The Mattress
I remember the mattress,
where you saw me asleep
for the first time, where we held
our breaths as friends passed my
door, keeping our love a secret garden.
I remember the mattress,
where we lay lazily in heat, skipping work
and the outside - waiting, wanting,
to have and to hold a place just our own.
I remember the mattress,
how it would become a dream to me,
change shape: from four sides and walls
holding me to you; to a triangle, three lines,
with that other body separating us; to a circle,
forever knowing I could never leave you.
Not that we married.
I remember the mattress,
where I’d read as a child,
feeling mulch and moss in the damp fabric,
sand dunes rising through the seams,
even levitating; the mattress
taking me beyond those words.
I remember the mattress,
as a map of friends, of tissue,
of spilt drinks and nail varnish -
red, your blood, hers - of letters
stuffed under pillow at a parent’s
approaching foot.
I remember the mattress,
pillows pushed to the bottom in sweat,
sheets tossed into a curve like a smile,
those pillows as eyes, tangled legs as a nose,
our splayed fingers the crooked teeth
with white tips.
I remember that mattress.
It was the last thing they loaded into the van.
How empty the apartment looked without it.
Your things in boxes. My eulogy spent.
I remember the mattress.
I remember you.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
