Written for her own children, Sylvia Plath's fanciful, jig-jogging catalog of special beds should fulfill wishes preschoolers didn't even know they had: for a Snack Bed with a bread pillow and an Automat at the head. . .or a growable, Pocket-size Bed you can carry around in case you're visiting a friend ""and they say: It's too bad/ You can't stay overnight/But there isn't an extra/Bed in sight"" or for, as Plath summarizes the rest of them, ""Tank Beds, Beds/on Elephant Backs,/Beds that fly,/ or go under water,/Bouncy Beds, Beds/you can spatter and spotter,/Bird-watching Beds,/Beds for Zero Weather-/any kind of Bed/as long as it's rather/special and queer/and full of surprises. . . ."" Emily McCully's literal interpretations don't extend the fantasy or even link it (say, in Anglund's Cowboy-style) with any real nursery pretending, but they are as bouncy and euphoric as you could ask. All in all, a dream of a bedtime romp--though it won't put anyone to sleep.