E.H. JACOBS
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READING IN BED
I’ve gotten used to reading in bed. My doctor says it’s bad sleep hygiene. She says I will be tired and being tired is bad at my age. My doctor says bed should be only for sleep or, and here she pauses. She does not want to say “sex.” We shouldn’t talk of sex at my age. So, she says, “intimacy” and I nod. “So, I get two things,” and she looks puzzled. “Two things,” I repeat. “Sleep…intimacy.” And she nods. “With my husband gone, I’m down to one.” She nods again. “So, I get to substitute.” She does not know how to answer. My doctor does not say I will stop dreaming about you. My doctor does not say I will stop imagining I hear you snoring softly as your sinuses congest. My doctor does not say I won’t turn and think I see the mound you make under the blankets. We slept as one. We rose as one. The other day I read the letter you’d sent me on our tenth anniversary. It slipped through my fingers as I fell asleep. On its way to the floor, I dreamed that I
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Volume 17 • 2022
