Yours was my first
featherbed.
Box stitched billows of
warmth
floating under
a sea of
flannel security.
Your oversized
old puffy comforter
sealed our safe cocoon.
living up to its name
embracing me
almost as well as
you did.
We slept entwined.
seamlessly
connected,
until
The unfiltered light
interfered
revealing
stark, prescient
shadows
we couldnโt ignore.
I got up before you
stepping onto
your cold stone floor.
(I swear you kept the
thermostat at
50)
leaving the warmth
of your bed
and you.
Christine Bevilacqua, retired school counselor lives in a blue house with her two cats and her long-time boyfriend. She is part of an online union sponsored writing class with fellow retired educators. Christineโs works have been previously published in the Raven Review and Writing in a Womanโs Voice. She also loves to garden, listen to music, attend concerts and plays and keep up with politics.
