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Rumpled Sheets
Rumpled Sheets
He pulled her to him, kissed her neck.
She chuckled, squirming close.
He reined soft kisses down her face,
Her eyes, her cheeks, her nose.
They languished there a moment more,
Then rose with both replete.
Their midday nap they left behind,
Along with rumpled sheets.
In dead of night the baby cries.
Her parents hit the floor.
Her fever high, they both then fly,
To dress and exit door.
The E.R. nurse just shakes her head,
And smiles as group she meets.
So frightened they snatched her away,
Leaving her rumpled sheets.
A plaintive, “MOM!” fills up the room,
As little girl comes in.
The tears are coursing down her face,
And falling from her chin.
When playmates hurt her feelings thus,
Her mom she runs to meet.
On fresh-made bed they talk it out.
They’re only rumpled sheets.
The days flash by and years do fly.
The little girl is grown.
She had flown the nest for college,
But now she’s coming home.
She’s getting married in the spring.
“The Boyfriend” dad does greet.
Mom thinks of all the love she’s known,
And all those rumpled sheets.
As babies come, grandparents fawn,
And coo, and cuddle them.
Their house once empty now is filled,
With childish noise again.
On weekends Gramps pulls out the tent.
Who knew that it would leak?
Nana is left with wash to do…
Just more old rumpled sheets.
The phone is ringing. Two A.M.
What in the world is wrong?
Another mad dash to E.R.
“Honey, you must be strong.”
A quiet, stricken dad meets them.
“She’s gone.” His voice is weak.
Behind him mom lies, no motion,
A saint on rumpled sheets.
The woman makes the arrangements.
Gramps just can’t take it in.
To homestead everyone gathers,
To cry, to love, to plan.
She straightens the house for the visits,
And takes up the broom and sweeps.
She packs the machine with laundry,
One load of rumpled sheets.
Smelling perfume from her childhood,
She inhales pressed to nose.
“Ah-h-h, Mom,” she says as she’s crying.
"No more for you--dirty clothes."
Remembering joys unceasing,
And the loving touch always sweet.
She wishes for only one thing--
One more old rumpled sheet.
I have always taken great comvort in "rumpled sheets"
with their holding "surfs" like static waves of
some solidified sea... Loved this poem.
Keep Writing - keep the faith.
That's pretty...it reminds me of sunday mornings when you wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs.
jinx
Gary F. Thompson
spendinmywords@aol.com
I love it Jess, you are one very talented lady, thanks so much for sharing it with us :) Gary
http://PostPoems.com/members/wordman
K. A. Tinsley
God that was so good. Of course, not what I was thinking when I suggested rumpled sheets. But so much better. I'm sure you know what I'm doing now, as I tell you, I wish I could call my mom too.
Make it a LONG call.
Kim