Charles W. Bailey’s “The Bed” describes someone lying alone in a bed that still carries traces of a missing person. The speaker notices the hollows left by the other body and the warmth fading from the sheets. The bed becomes a record of absence: the mattress keeps the shape, but the person is gone. The speaker tries to hold on to what remains—warmth, a possible touch, an imagined movement—but the ghost is mute, and only cigarette smoke fills the space. The question in the middle, “did I feel / a touch / of a wrapping / thigh?”, captures the uncertain reaching after an absent body. The mood is quiet, intimate, and eerie. Loss is felt through small physical details rather than declarations. The poem leaves open whether the person has died or simply left, which gives the scene a suspended, dreamlike quality. As night scrapes at the window, the bed’s final silence feels heavy and not quite peaceful.
The Bed — Summary
Hollows map your body gone.
My body drinks your fading warmth.
Your ghost is mute. I smoke.
A touch, did I feel a touch of a wrapping thigh?
Silence deepens. I sleep.
Night scraps the window.
The bed is silent.