What the bed Says to the Girl it Holds

I have held your wracking body,

overtaken by holy and hell alike,

when the wind teased your cheek

where the boy last kissed you, and

when you bled an ocean of salt and bedrock.

And I have accepted you as you are,

both when you rise in morning and

when you fall by evening, a child

asking for her mother by mouth and hand

when you discover your fear of the dark

at eighteen years old.

And darkness takes on many forms you discover,

and you whimper beneath my body, asking for

comfort that sometimes only I bring at the end of the day,

when your pockets are filled with too many

sticky notes, receipts, and reminders.

I’ve heard your heart hum and mellow

as your breath grows louder with peace,

and I hold you until heaven reaches you.