I know how to make a bed
While still lying in it, and
Slip out of an imaginary hole
As if I were squeezed out of a tube:
Tug, smooth—the bed is made.
And if resurrections are this easy,
Why then I believe in all of them:
Lazarus rising from his tomb,
Elijah at the vertical—
Though death, I think, has more than clever
Household hints in mind and wants
The bed made, once, and for good.
“Making a Bed” by Howard Moss from New Selected Poems. © Athenaeum, 1985.
3 Replies to “Making A Bed”
May you make your bed a million times plus some. Jayne
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Every day is a gift.
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