Embedded

Twin beds growing up,
the occasional double with my sister
in hotels or spare bedrooms
on vacation. Bunks rearranged
at college, doubling up or side-by-side.
On Easter break that year in West Virginia,
the first time I'd stretched alone
in a big bed, princess
without the fairy tale pea. It felt so good.
A year later, there'd be no more of that,
sharing the matrimonial mattress,
spooning in good times, 
vast emptiness that multiplies
within small square footage when times
are not-so-good.
Double, queen, king, brief foray into
waterbed variety that didn't take.
Wedding present sheets long gone,
the odd pillowcase survivor,
evidence of longevity and stubborn
commitment. Grandpa's four-poster 
passed on to his namesake, finally fell apart. 
Today's rare opportunity to sleep in--
arms stretch, almost able to grab
the sides of the bed, flexing the night
out of my toes. If I could stretch just
a little more, what would I find over
the edge?

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012