The Unmade Bed
Throughout history and even last Thursday,
some very wise people
have asked some very powerful questions, like
"Is there a God?" and
"How did the universe begin?" and
"What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
just to name a few.
This morning, after waking up and having my coffee,
I asked yet another:
"Why make my bed?"
I mean, really, why?
After all, I'm just going to get back into it later tonight,
I'm not married, so my wife won't mind,
no friends will be coming for dinner later,
so they won't think
I don't care enough about them to make my bed.
and besides, there are a lot of unmade things in my life --
my mind, for example.
When it comes right down to it, I don't always know
what I'm going to do next --
and that is not necessarily a bad thing.
My plans for next week, for example, only partially exist,
and a lot of my poetry, with its various sheets,
blankets and pillows going this way and that,
is not exactly in place --
at least not yet.
And hey, didn't the universe begin out of chaos
with all those swirling nebulae still not fully formed,
so why make my bed, eh?
And come to think of it, I like the way I feel
when I walk past my bed wondering if it's OK
for me to go an entire day without making it.
I like the dance of opposites inside me
either getting in step or not --
me moving towards the living room
or still not sure where to go.
But please don't get me wrong, I beg you --
my sheets are clean, they really are,
I washed them just last week
and the sunlight entering my bedroom window
somehow still finds its way
past the curtains to my bed.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:13 PM | Comments (0)
