lie in it

there are mornings when
the ritual of smoothing away
all the sheet wrinkles and
tidying the pulled up covers
convinces me I am in control
of the coming day’s destiny

other mornings the languid
pile of color and form reclining
like a lover diagonally across
my bed portrays me to myself
as a woman who has no need
for outwardly imposed order

Cinse Bonino
2022