The made bed
Kim Triedman

After Louise Gluck’s “The Burning Heart”

Before you, there was the
knowledge: warm, taut, breath
reversed; imprint preceding

             What does your husband have to
             say about this?

Dampness, anticipating kiss; only a
shape, back then: a space

between words,
between skin—

             My husband?

Something would come, I knew—a
color, perhaps—blood

orange, something like
flame. The bed was waiting,

             My husband says nothing.
             My husband knows nothing.

white sheets clean and
softened with age, pillows

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