My Bed, Made Up with Down Pillows
by Virginia M. Mohlere
I sleep on my brothersevery night --
fluff them high,
sweet-smelling
tight-woven cotton under linen
to keep the bars from jabbing.
Oh, years of nettles,
and now everything around me is soft.
The task failed,
the word spoken:
my prince said,
"Will you have me?"
And I said,
"Yes."
My brothers' meat fed my wedding feast,
and the rustle of feathers when I roll over in bed
is the only voice
they have left.
Every day I sing.
Virginia Mohlere lives in the swamps of Houston and writes with a fountain pen that is extinct in the wild. Her work has been seen in Cabinet des Fées, Fickle Muses, Mythic Delirium, Goblin Fruit, and MungBeing.
When asked of what poem the word "cherry" immediately makes her think, she replied, "the Cherry Tree Carol, one of the strangest Christmas songs you'll ever encounter."
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