We really need new sheets, you said,
but then I found these, forgotten
behind the heating pads
and the old crib linens.
Translucent with age,
silky from a thousand washings—
one breath and I am young again,
We made love on these faded blues when
there was endless love to make.
We made babies
on these trailing, sage-green leaves—
babies now into women grown.
We need new sheets, you said.
And you shall have them,
—Alyson Button Stone