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Twin Bed

by Diana Rosen


Hoisting the huge mattress upright 

against the wall, I watch it curve

like a round-shoulder mourner

at the Wailing Wall, edges flattened,

untouched. Small cot-like bed in a

narrow rented room, no place for my

favorite matte blue bowl cradling

melting Jamaica Almond Fudge;

nowhere to spread out the Sunday

paper once perfectly lost in that old

king-sized bed. Laughter, wordplays,

silly signals of bonded twosome,

a vague sweet memory chilling

my heart as twilight softens the day.

Pragmatic me hunts thick wool socks

knotted into the covers like gophers

burrowed in sand. Unrolled, stretched,

covering aching toes, insurance against

night’s frigid darkness, innocent

inducement to safety, sleep, at last.


About the Author:



Diana Rosen is an essayist/poet/flash fiction writer published in more than 60 print and online journals and anthologies including Rattle, Tiferet Journal, Zingara Review, World Haiku Review, Ariel Chart, Soft Cartel, Dime Show Review, and forthcoming in The Pangolin Review, Poetic Diversity, The Jewish Writing Project, and Far Villages, an anthology from Black Lawrence Press.


Archive, The River

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