A WRINKLE IN TIME

 

The pillows lean toward themselves

plumply

gently melting into their chairs

softly folding  into their neighbors

delightfuly reshaping the sofa,

sliding into the old Morris chair

as if they really belong there

instead of on the floor.

I let them move slowly thinking

about their shapes yet leave them

unchanging

every day

never touching them, never

adjusting their slow slide

nor folding their ruffles

not plumping them into some form of

obedience

not adjusting my own

long slide or ruffles either.