Two Poems (Deborah Barrett)
Deborah Barrett
The Bed I Made
The rocking calmed my fear as I sat watching
my husband sleep, his chest rising and falling
in rhythm with the back-and-forth of my chair,
like a metronome measuring the beats of our life.
In sleep, he appeared peaceful, his features
strong, firm, handsome so like Michelangelo’s
David, he could have been the model, down to
the brooding forehead and eyes cast above us all.
Our bed of so many years, with its mountain
in the middle and valleys on each side of its
well-worn mattress, made me think about our
three babies conceived in it, two born, one lost.
Now, they slept in their bedrooms, oblivious
to how near their father had brought death’s
shadow, only saved by Bacchus’ spirits inducing
him to drop the gun and pass out on the bed.
His broken breathing suggested he was waking.
I ceased my rocking and held my breath, frozen
until he went back to sleep. I climbed in quietly
next to him, tangled in the bed I made.
Unchained Memories
The old black-and-white photo
cracked by time and the folds he
caused by carrying it in his wallet
portrays a young couple. We stood
on the steps of an Army barracks, his
arm behind my back, his hand gripping
my waist. Hidden under my skirt
are bruises lined up, four on one side,
one on the other, graduating from purple
to blue, older ones faded to mustard,
remnants of his fingers squeezing
my legs just above my knees.
I place the photo back in the trunk
with the love letters we wrote to each
other so many years ago, now bound
by yellow ribbons and resting on top
of the wrapped piece of my first turkey
platter, a wedding gift from my parents
shattered when he threw it against the wall,
leaving a deep dimple, never repaired,
in the home we shared for thirty years.
He places his broken wedding band
in my hand to show me he is leaving
for good this time. Then, he slams
the door behind him. I remain transfixed
until his car has cleared the driveway.
He is gone. Every muscle relaxes when
I hop into bed. The next morning, I awake
to sunlight streaming in my bedroom window,
my cat he kept locked outside, purring in my ear.
Copyright Credit: Deborah Barrett, “The Bed I Made" and "Unchained Memories" from Survival & Beyond, Issue 3 / Summer 2025 (Safe Passage, 2025). Copyright © 2025 by Safe Passage. Reprinted with the permission of the author.