Mourning Ritual

Every day, I smoothe the sheets,
Fluff the pillows and put them in their rightful place
After a night of wallowing.
I cuff the sheet top, turn down the blanket
And think of all the mornings
In that empty house 75 miles of crooked road away
I poured out of bed leaving sheets catty-wampuss,
Diving forward in time and in space,
Ignorant of the trap doors and forest fires lying in wait
Inside my own walls, not to mention the ones outside -
The shocks and the disasters.

In that house, in that town, in this world, so many things askew.

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