We spent an hour remaking our bed.
I peeled back the comforter and shook out
the sheets until the moon colored crumbs seeped
into the carpet. I got on my knees
and shoved my face into the floor, and this
is the closest I will ever get to
praying. After church we flipped the mattress
and scrubbed the blood out of the pillowcase.
If it were up to me, I would rip the
cotton in half and throw it into the
fireplace. I’d build a bunk out of the
snow on the ground and make angels in the
dust. Making this bed means sleeping alone
but carving these lines gives me a map home.