Fluffing for Tomorrows

Bauernkind auf rotgewürfeltem Kissen Paula Modersohn-Becker


I know we’re not supposed to know,

But the bed I make is for a monster of

Deepest earth ache, and so, is his heart

To go on sleep walking, or will it, for once

Upon a time, skip a scare, a terror, a horror,

And get up on the right side, in knowing smile

That each clean smoothed layer, each carefully

Tucked corner, each lovingly quilted patch, brings

Futures fitting him over there among the flowering?


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