Bed

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Bed
by Silvia Angulo

I never go to sleep ready to boil over the surface in bitterness.
Not because I find it un-fragrant, smoky, and burning.
I am not scared of my own soul’s churning.
I never go to sleep bawling in brimstone.
Not because my bed might bellow
following my behavior.
I may shake and wail
and it could creak and
weep with me in rising
irate heat, prophesying
my possible defeat.
It doesn’t matter,
I forget this synchronized pattern,
for I am not superstitious avoiding the inauspicious
I never go to sleep irritated with myself imbued with ire for life
because I truly know what it is like to not sleep in a bed on a cold night.

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