Bruce Ditman’s haiku on how the bed holds the weight of our work.
Editor’s Note: The greatest poems bring attention to the magical minutiae of life. The edge of the bed. We all roll out of it, it bows, and many of us reluctantly carry ourselves to jobs we’d rather not do. While there’s talk about the unhappiness of work, I’ve yet to read a poem about that last sliver of bed that gives as we go. Brilliant.
The edge of the bed
bows under the heft of it.
Resigning to work.
