Re Bound. Poem by Ian Kellett

The couch on my back
That I cannot get off
Is not due to malaise
Or a cough,
Or a dose of the worst,
Or an inflicted curse,
Or a sudden and unexpected
Act of attainder,
But to the memory that remains of her.

My legs have imprinted
Their place in the sun,
And have lost their last two step
As they’ve merged into one;
As the sofa enfolds,
As a blanket’s unrolled,
As I slowly allow me to
Acknowledge the news,
And the fact that with fabric I’ve fused.

And the weeks have begun
To resemble days
Without separate sheets
Of brocade,
And of course I’m aware
Of feelings impaired,
Of the unnatural texture
And closeness of linen,
But right now it feels better than women.