The bed describes the universe
between the wants of women
and the needs of the men
sleeping separately beside them.

Mister Chu has a small clock
and a bottle of clean water.

The woman has old Yoga Journal
a volume of Herbal Remedies
Vaseline in a plastic tube
paper products used and not
balms lemon and lip
something sold by Miss Winfrey
an insulated water flask
and an empty glass
smeared by fingers weeks ago
many books and the machine
that has replaced them
tissues
pencils and elastic objects
to secure long hair
borrowed socks unwashed
two travel clocks
in different colors
both without batteries
a new Yoga Journal
its spine unbroken
a dried-out tea bag
left with its stain
on a cardboard coaster
with printing now faded
products for refusing
the moment of conception
oils in tubes and vials
designed to deny wrinkles
thistle of dog
tissues
recipes each one torn
creams not to be eaten
three small computer drives
each containing films watched
on quiet evenings
but as yet unreturned
arnica gel
almonds in a plastic bag
scooped from the bulk bin
mostly now eaten
milkweed
tissues
a Mother’s Day drawing
on lined notebook paper
made by a child and lost
beneath subsequent events
but impossible to part with
an ant trap improperly placed
a folded map of Italy and
a printed sheet detailing
cooking classes in Assisi
a noise machine
a spiral-bound journal
a frosted light
some cramp bark
vitamins and aspirins
Advil and Aleve
tissues
a heating pad
filled with organic beans
to be warmed in the microwave
a velvet eye pillow
with washable cover
a variety of ear-plugs
scattered blue and orange
two book lights
both broken
tissues
notes on money management
suited to a woman’s psyche
a postcard of Frida Kahlo
and her uterus painted
by Frida Kahlo
and unnoticed somewhere beneath it all
a fortune cookie that reads:
Elegant surroundings will soon be yours.

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