Making a Bed

Making a Bed
by Howard Moss


I know how to make a bed
While still lying in it, and
Slip out of an imaginary hole
As if I were squeezed out of a tube:
Tug, smooth—the bed is made.
And if resurrections are this easy,
Why then I believe in all of them:
Lazarus rising from his tomb,
Elijah at the vertical—

Though death, I think, has more than clever
Household hints in mind and wants
The bed made, once, and for good. 


"Making a Bed" by Howard Moss, from New Selected Poems. © Athenaeum, 1985.

In the White Sky
by William Stafford


Many things in the world have
already happened. You can
go back and tell about them.
They are part of what we
own as we speed along
through the white sky.

But many things in the world
haven't yet happened. You help
them by thinking and writing and acting.
Where they begin, you greet them
or stop them. You come along
and sustain the new things.


Once, in the white sky there was
a beginning, and I happened to notice
and almost glimpsed what to do.
But now I have come far
to here, and it is away back there.
Some days, I think about it.


"In the White Sky" by William Stafford, from Stories That Could Be True. © Harper & Row, Publishers, 1977


William Stafford lived in Portland for many years.  His widow lives in our retirement home, Terwilliger Plaza.  His son is going to talk to our RAPSU group next October.