I read "In Praise of My Bed" this week. It's a poem by Meredith Holmes. I was looking through a book of poems trying to find one to read and I read this one. At the time I was very cold and extremely tired, having just gotten home from school and the poem said exactly what I was feeling. The line that hits me most is when Holmes says, "I do nothing, but point/my bare feet into your/clean smoothness" (275). It made me miss my warm, cozy bed and want to run upstairs and fall into it.
This feeling is not strange to others, our bed is a safe place where troubles just dissolve and our worries slide away. That's what the poem reminded me of. That's how the author views her bed, too. She explains how she can, "feel your quiet strength the whole length of my body" (275). We feel safe in our beds because they are so familiar and seem to have a magical way of making us want to melt into them and never leave. It also brought back the memorie of waking up on a below freezing winter morning and borrowing into your blankets, feeling the breeze on the top of your head. Your bed holds endless stories of sleepovers and nightmares making your bed on of the most worn out and loved places in the house.
Holmes, Meredith. In Praise of My Bed. Good Poems. Ed. Garrison Keillor. New York: Penguin Group, 2005.
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Beds are indeed lovely places. I would even argue that sleeping bags, hammocks, and air mattresses can be as lovely as beds. That secure feeling of going to sleep, when you don't have to worry about anything because you're done for the day, is unmatchable.
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