I praise the way you make
the bed left to air too long,
thwack of blanket hitting air—
smack of pillows too deflated
ever for show, but fluffed fuller,
still banked up by swift fists.
I love the way you smooth
a fraying quilt, mending
damaged surfaces, reversed
comforter stain camouflaged,
a canvas now for clean laundry,
for folding socks strewn warm.
We pair, partner, peace-make.
Written beside “Ribollita” by Donna Hilbert
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