Friday, February 12, 2010

The Unmade Bed

Huh…I tried to post and Blogger ate me alive. I will try again.

I do make the bed. I wash the dishes too. My job.

This has been a hard week. Every work week is a hard week for me any more. Then I went for a massage and chiropractic treatment. I feel mauled but good.

Tonight I miss having a lover, even though I would not really be good company.

The Unmade Bed

The way the bed looks
when you leave it on mornings
when we don't sleep in
is precious to me.

It's my job to make your bed.
We agreed to this,
as if you're the Queen
Mother and me the worker
bee buzzing around.
I am not a drone.

April 02, 2009 12:14 PM


  1. Christopher, that is such a sweet poem. And not in the way my son uses the word sweet, but as in very lovely, like a lullaby.
    A lullaby for big kids, like me.

  2. Jozien, we can all change each other over time, near or far. All it takes is honesty, patience and love.

  3. Damn! That's her! She looked just like that leaving the house.
    Hooah! How'd you know?

    Thanks, Ghost I heard you clean up real good too, in an ectoplasmic metro kind of way...nobody knows exactly. :) My cat sees ghosts. She said.

  4. Adoration. I see adoration here. The ghost, the woman who isn't, perhaps who was. We need, don't we? These tender turnings. I am in a place now where I am lucky enough to see the value in these turnings, the precipice of new love. What a gift. I wish it for you. I wish it for all.

  5. It is really easy to be generous when one is rich in love. I remember this well. It is mainly right to track and be true to what is happening in the here and now. We do each other no favors keeping pretences in the name of civility. Pretty much everything real depends on honesty. However, it is also true that the public markets have their own rules. When in Rome, do as the Romans. It is perhaps best to avoid the marketplace as much as possible.

    I write this as I sit in my usual marketplace spot.

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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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