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Unmade Bed<\/strong><\/p>\n We were just lava hitting the sea, in the end.\u00a0 We moved slowly, forced to destroy our path to suit our shape.\u00a0 I wonder if we could have done it differently.\u00a0 Those great sparks and that great noise we threw off, were they worth it?\u00a0 Worth the destruction of them, of us, just for the sea to envelope you like it was nothing.<\/p>\n I went to your funeral, as promised, my love.\u00a0 I just wasn\u2019t as brave as you wanted me to be.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t fight when they said I had to slip into the back, unspeaking.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t fight when they said I had to deny us. I hovered at the edges, like some old school friend, an acquaintance maybe.\u00a0 Your absence draped over me like a weighted cloak.\u00a0 I\u2019m sorry, it was too heavy for me, and I could see your parents struggling with their own, heavier guilt.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t get past this doorway.\u00a0 I tried to step through but I couldn\u2019t, wasn\u2019t able to.\u00a0 I saw the bed. Saw the large crease in the sheet there and I wasn\u2019t sure if it was yours or mine. There\u2019s still a soft dent in the pillow from where you last lay sleeping.\u00a0 That must be where you live now, in the empty spaces.\u00a0 So temporary.\u00a0 I wonder if I can find someone who can cast them all in plaster, so I can rebuild you from the outside in, before they get filled accidently.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve been staying at Kath\u2019s the past week, I hope that\u2019s ok.\u00a0 I know you don\u2019t\u2026I know you didn\u2019t like me being so close to her but she offered me a room when the air in here tasted too much like you.\u00a0 Nothing happened, of course, but you inhabit everywhere acceptable.\u00a0 It was a single bed in her spare room.\u00a0 I needed that, not to have to swim the great expanses of our double.<\/p>\n Right.\u00a0 I\u2019m in.<\/p>\n I\u2019m closing the Attwood you were reading to me.\u00a0 The Handmaids will have to find their own way out.\u00a0 I\u2019m throwing away the wine glasses, even the one with proof your curved lips existed.\u00a0 I won\u2019t throw you away, love, I just can\u2019t breathe in here unless I put some of you to the side.<\/p>\n The Dublin photo will stay standing proud. Remember that?\u00a0 The first time we held hands without backward glances.\u00a0 No disapproval, just a couple of girls happy together. \u2018Too normal to register,\u2019 that\u2019s what you said. So cool, so nonchalant, so out of my league.\u00a0 I\u2019m just going to slide it over to the other pictures so it doesn\u2019t hit me so hard on its own, but it\u2019s there.<\/p>\n The wardrobe I\u2019ll leave for now, I\u2019m scared the scent of your ghost will rush out of your clothes and push me over. Are you a ghost?\u00a0 I don\u2019t think you\u2019d like it, never one to be tethered to anything, you.\u00a0 Haunt me if you can.<\/p>\n I\u2019m going to make the bed.\u00a0 I\u2019ll settle the tides of the duvet and straighten the sheets.\u00a0 I\u2019ll keep your pillow cave as long as it\u2019ll hold. It will collapse, I know.\u00a0 The empty spaces will be filled.\u00a0 But I\u2019ll stand inside them, scaffold them until my body breaks.\u00a0 I won\u2019t let them fall until the sea comes for me too, until it sweeps and sucks me down.\u00a0 Just an unbroken surface, a light ripple, then no more.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Debbie Kinsey<\/strong> writes in Yorkshire, UK, on a diet of cake and tea.\u00a0 She has previously been published at The Pygmy Giant.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Unmade Bed We were just lava hitting the sea, in the end.\u00a0 We moved slowly, forced to destroy our path to suit our shape.\u00a0 I wonder if we could have done it differently.\u00a0 Those great sparks and that great noise we threw off, were they worth it?\u00a0 Worth the destruction of them, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4964","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4964","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4964"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4964\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4967,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4964\/revisions\/4967"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4964"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4964"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4964"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}