Once upon a time (because all bedtime
stories must begin that way, right?),
there was a young-old woman

with a too-big bed that no longer suited her—
too hard, unforgiving, not supportive
where it needed to be,

and the man who loved her had been saying
for years, “I’ll buy you a new bed.”
But it seemed like too much work,

and how could you know how it’d feel
after lying on it for a few minutes looking
up into a showroom’s fluorescents?

And the old bed surely must’ve been glued
to the floor by now, and who would show up
to move such a behemoth, and that old

floppy mattress would fold like a pancake,
making it hard to move, and… But finally,
the young-old woman sighed, gave in,

asked for help, got advice, and, as always
happens, helper angels appeared, saying,
“We can do that for you,” and they did.

Other helpers in sister and friend form
nudged her (“It can be returned if it’s not just
right“). And today two men showed up in a

huge truck with the new bed and adjustable
platform and remote control (for a bed?!),
and they set it up on the freshly cleaned

floor, and, as she used to spell it in her
sixth grade notebooks, “Wallah!” And even
before she put on the sheets, she had

to lie on it, looking up a ceiling that had
sheltered her for nearly four decades,
close her eyes and thank the gods

of mattresses, for helpers, for all who
seemingly moved heaven and earth
to set her floating on this cloud,

a peaceful raft inside a cool house
on a hot summer day, amen,
the end.

•••

With gratitude to my village—Dickie and Donna and Lisa
and Neil and Timi for the nudges and strategizing, and to
Marissa and Leon, the movers/taker-awayers,
Robert the mattress seller, housekeepers Gladis and Lupe,
and Jose and Juan who delivered the new bed—
and all behind-the-scenes people who made this happen.