Memories of furniture and lamps
a most familiar room
where someone else now lives and loves,
the house and all it’s walls embracing strangers.
To the right of our bedroom door
a tall chest, filled
with ties and sweaters, a watch;
dark carved wood; bronze tear drop pulls
opposite a matching dresser
two framed mirrors watching us grow old together.
I wonder whom the glass now sees
or alas, if glass has memories.
Embracing our bed of dark pecan
end tables, bronze lamps,
Tiffany shades of many colors;
at the head two suns with wooden rays
Through the blinds, Apollo’s light
would lay it’s stripes upon our bed
awaking us from each others arms
and dreams on Sunday mornings.
And in the bed of Spanish wood we loved each other.
lips on body, hips and fingertips
or held each other in the night, comforting one another
in our sorrow.
And when we had to be apart
and sleep alone for perhaps a week;
we didn’t know; nay never dreamed
that it might be forever.
I gave away our Spanish bed and left the house;
our bed must still be out there somewhere;
by the light of the lamps, I wonder now
who it is that loves in it.