I know how to make a bed
While still lying in it, and
Slip out of an imaginary hole
As if I were squeezed out of a tube:
Tug, smooth—the bed is made.
And if resurrections are this easy,
Why then I believe in all of them:
Lazarus rising from his tomb,
Elijah at the vertical—
Though death, I think, has more than clever
Household hints in mind and wants
The bed made, once, and for good.
This poem can be found in the volume, New Selected Poems.
Think about how the poem made you feel. Could you picture this linen resurrection? Did it remind you of our eventual inevitability, or of the possibility of something more after?
May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you again tomorrow.