Sleep Fast, We Need The Pillows (Traditional Polish Saying) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I am sleeping as fast as I can,
So as not to wear out the pillow.

Pillows are precious;
This pink one was mail-order,
Bought by my mother, now deceased.
Deliberately nylon, so it never creased.

Half of a matching set,
Except they never matched
Was this one his or hers?

It'll outlive us all.
Immune to disease, to moth,
The ultimate mort-cloth.

If I unpicked it, what secrets would it tell?
Pillows are fickle, shameless.
Promiscuous,
Pillows lie down with anyone.

When I, too, am dead,
Oh pillow, who then will hold you close?
Whose dreams will run like rivers
Round your frills?