In Praise of Sleeping Alone

In Praise of Sleeping Alone

Everyone talks about sharing a bed

as if it were the greatest thing for sleep

since the invention of the down comforter.

I prefer sleeping alone,

stretching out diagonally on my firm,

but not too firm mattress.

Wrapping myself in a cocoon

of all the blankets on the bed

only to kick them to the floor

in the middle of the night.

I delight in pajamas that are comfortable,

utilitarian, and utterly uninviting.

I boldly leave the bedside lamp burning

until three or four in the morning

when I'm reading a new detective novel

gloriously unburdened by care for another's rest.

Even on the nights when I rise

plagued by nightmares or common anxiety

I do not wish for the calm, steady breath of another

or his warm sturdy presence under the quilt next to me.