Dismantling the Cot by Philip Miller The thread turns, gold lines twisting, as the hand curls, fastenings slip out in a steady brass coil and the joints loosen with a shake, the cot slips in the ngers, the screw unfurls and it all comes apart – the bed cracked, in ve weak pieces on the oor. Your rst, and the last we will have to unscrew. No need for slats and bars now, and this pale cage becomes new doors laid on the wall, with metal slewing in a jar for another father who will reach in and shush. The thread turns, time passing with each turn and roll, the fastenings slip and the threads are loosened and parted. Now in the night, no cries or calls for help, no tiny upturned palms – just footsteps, a life of yearning, and the search for warmth in the dark.