Love Poem
after Ron Padgett
We have plenty of throw pillows in our house.
We arrange them every morning
when we make the bed together.
First, the floral ones that match the sheets.
Next, the cylindrical bolsters for back support
followed by twenty-one inch silver squares
big enough to be two obsolete televisions.
The last pillow goes smack in the center
—on its face is a map of the world.
I forget what life was like before throw pillows.
I could jump to generalizations and state
the average male is driven by utility.
He knows throw pillows reduce leg room
unconcerned with decorative nest building.
Nevertheless, there is something to be said
about returning home after a long day.
Greeted at the door
by a beaming smile from the bed.
How about a nap? It’s cozy here!
Throw pillows bring out the color
palette of a room. I’m convinced. So incand-
descent and vivacious. The woman
I love sees the world with her own eyes.
A personal aesthetic draped in dusty purple,
hurricane lamps light up succulent plants.
She is vivid, has her own graceful way
of complementing my negative space.
For dinner we make breakfast,
Eggos and bacon.
