When I slip beneath the quilt and fold into her warmth, I think we are like the pages of a love letter written thirty years ago that some aging god still reads each day and then tucks back into its envelope.
‘Getting into bed on a December Night’ – in How To Love the World, Poems of Gratitude and Hope
A bit out of post-Covid puff after doing some laundry – but I did smile when I happened upon Ellen Bass’ Getting into bed … earlier. Who but a poet sets about expressing the undoubted joys of pristine clean sheets? But who hasn’t experienced the said joys?