For twenty-seven years
twenty-five of them married
we stood on opposite sides of our bed
when it was time to change the sheets.
Twenty-seven years.
Long enough to forget how hard it is
to change the sheets
Alone.
You stood on your side
I stood on mine
and after we smoothed the top sheet
the light blanket
the heavy blanket
I would ask, “How long is it over there?”
to see if the lengths were even.
You would grin and say
(for twenty-five years)
“As long as it was when you married me.”
And we both giggled like sixteen-year-olds.
I didn’t know you when you were sixteen
but through your laugh
I did.
Often, as we giggled, we tumbled into the bed
not yet dressed with its bedspread
and then we wouldn’t be dressed either.
When we went to sleep that night
our clean sheets were already scented
with Us.

Now
almost two years after your death
I walk around the bed, side to side
pull and tug and smooth
until it’s all equal and balanced.
I use sheets you never slept on.
And when I go to bed tonight
there will only be the scent
of laundry soap and fabric softener.
But I will look at your photo
and think of your laugh.