"In Praise of My Bed," by Meredith Holmes

At last I can be with you!
The grinding hours
since I left your side!
The labor of being fully human,
working my opposable thumb,
talking, and walking upright.
Now I have unclasped
unzipped, stepped out of.
Husked, soft, a be-er only,
I do nothing, but point
my bare feet into your
clean smoothness
feel your quiet strength
the whole length of my body.
I close my eyes, hear myself
moan, so grateful to be held this way.

(N.B.I: The posting of this poem is dedicated to my bed, for which I am thankful every single night.)

(N.B.II: Most of the poems I post, including this one, come from the Writer's Almanac daily e-mail, which I highly commend for its wit, wisdom, and wonderful contemporary and classic poetry. Among the poets I've met through it are Stephen Dobyns, Barbara Crooker, William Stafford ("Wisdom is having things right in your life / and knowing why."), Tony Hoagland, and Stephen Dunn ("I was burned by books early / and kept sidling up to the flame"). To subscribe to the Writer's Almanac, click here.)