Why you sleep in the nude
the covers feel much softer
than any nightgown or
pajamas
against bare skin
and in the winter
you shiver
and feel nipples stiffen
before finding warmth
down under comforters
that twist and wrap close
to your form
in the summer
in the heat and stagnant air
you can stand
and cool your wetness
with the breezes
you blow by shaking hair
before
you walk across the room
to the window watching
the moon through shutters
paint silver stripes
upon your canvas
then return
to breathe in
your scent among the tangled sheets
and come to know yourself
as a lover does
about the poet:
T. Birch is a middle-aged, slightly frumpy, devoted parent of 2 children. Her unknown illness (unknown to the medical profession anyway) has offered the chance to travel to far-off, exotic locales such as Bethesda MD and Rochester MN (not to mention first hand experience with the many miracles of modern medical technology). This condition has also extended to her the benefits that can only come with an involuntary retirement from the workforce. Writing poetry, despite its well known inability to provide financial reward
commensurate with the effort that it entails, does help pass the time which is the principal bane of any retiree.
T. Birch posts poems online under the internet tag, thewhitetree. Should you have extra time on your hands and a high tolerance for obscure literary minutiae be sure and ask for a detailed explanation of its origins.
