Chapter 4. The Counterpane. a poem. Ed Madden.


(an epithalamion, for Bert)

I wake with counterpane of arm,

thick and warm, across my chest.


You’d almost thought I’d been his wife,

the way he hugged me tight, as though


naught but death could part us now–

this unbecoming bridegroom clasp,


this strip of quilt a sunburnt arm.

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